Mad House
by SPG inc
Summary: The Doctor is alone again as he crash lands the TARDIS outside Arkham Asylum. Usually reluctant to interfere with parallel worlds, the Doctor teams up with Batman and an unexpected old friend to stop the Joker. *HIATUS*
1. Chapter 1

_**Dedicated to Heath Ledger for his outstanding portrayal of the Joker in 'Batman: Dark Knight'**_

_**Additional dedication to Danielle and her astounding resemblance to Barbara Gordon**_

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Dirty smog rolled endlessly through the streets, manhole covers belched humid toxins into the air, emergency service radios screamed of various atrocities taking place, and police commissioner Jim Gordon was so tired out of his mind he was sure he'd seen stars above Gotham City going out, one by one.

'_Just another dark night in this wretched town_.' he thought bitterly.

The veteran police officer gratefully took a gulp of stale, lukewarm coffee from the paper cup to clear his head. The coffee machines in Arkham Asylum had been on the blink for over a year, but security were understandably reluctant to permit sending for an engineer for something so trivial.

"What's the status on Batman, detective?" he asked without looking away from his work.

"Dah," Harvey Bullock grunted in thought, his strong Brooklyn accent dominating his voice. "Some officers seen 'im drivin' through the streets like crazy. Say about five minutes away."

The bulky detective lumbered over to the reception counter and grabbed his own coffee cup, ignoring the spillage with an ignorance born of years of adapting to his own clumsiness. Using the same indifference to discard the receptionists affronted "Hmph!" he tipped back his dark grey fedora and drank deeply.

"I don't like it, comish." he said when he'd finished, his usually grumpy expression frowning into an even worse look. "The only time that freak gets recaptured so quickly is when he's planned something so big he can't wait to let us find him. 'e's only been loose for a couple of weeks."

"Maybe he's losing his edge." Gordon said, though he knew how pathetically hopeful it sounded. "Either way, let's just be glad Batman managed to stop him."

Bullock looked cynical, but didn't even think of contradicting the commissioner. He turned and walked down the hall so the receptionist couldn't see him lighting up in front of the no smoking sign.

Gordon continued to look idly through his files, distracted by Bullock's words.

Despite his questionable past acts and compulsive carelessness, Bullock was a good officer, with an unbending loyalty to both Gordon and the police department, and a mind filled with more subtle intelligence than his outward character suggested, and the commissioner trusted his judgment. Everyone had been relieved that the Joker's latest scheme hadn't been anything too terrible, but most seem to ignore the fact that the Joker's schemes were always terrible, and if they weren't there must be a reason why not. To this end, the mayor's office had remained empty after the siege had ended in case the bomb threat was nothing more than a distraction from the real crime. Apart from that, all they could do was get the Joker back to his cell and try and increase the security to prevent another escape. Jim Gordon did his best to ignore the nagging thought that the worst was yet to come, deciding that even a police commissioner must once in awhile allow himself the luxury of believing that everything was okay.

Thoughts like this chased each other round his head until he finally arrived.

The Joker, in all his vile glory, grinning and chuckling madly as he tipped his head back onto the edge of the upright stretcher he was secured to, as though relaxing. Two armed and armored guards and the Batman accompanied him.

"Long night Jim?" the dark knight asked ironically.

"You bet," Gordon replied as they shook hands "Joker invades City Hall and holds the mayor hostage, leaving it to me to juggle SWAT teams, the media and you. It's been a helluva night."

"Hopefully the last one we'll ever have with _him_." Batman shot the Joker an evil look.

"Well this time we'll make sure he stays put." Bullock interrupted as he approached the Joker with a sneer. "You hear me clown? We got more bars, doors, locks, guards and 'treatment' just waiting specially for you. This whole place'll be so secure not even a rat like you could squeeze yer way out."

The Joker leered down at the detective and said "What a load of _bullocks_!"

He guffawed and snorted with laughter as Bullock moved away, affronted and frustrated.

"I'm gonna go and check the new security details with that Warden er... Quincey what's-'is-name?"

With a parting glare at the grinning lunatic, the man stomped off down the corridor to the lifts that went to the upper floor. Behind him, the guards began to wheel their prize towards the holding cells area.

"Sorry Batman. Arkham staff only beyond this point." a new guard held his hand out like a barrier, bringing the policeman and the vigilante to a halt.

"I assure you," Gordon's voice lowered marginally to indicate his disapproval "if anyone's qualified it's-"

"Listen, I appreciate the assistance," the guard interrupted, not bothering to try and sound convincing "but he'll unsettle the more violent inmates."

Another laugh came from the Joker as he was placed in handcuffs and taken from the restraining trolley by security officer Frank Boles.

"I think he's talking about you, Bats!" he chortled. The new guard took charge of him as Boles went back to the reception.

Gordon didn't like the idea of letting the Joker out of his or Batman's sight until he was locked up again, but the cells of the intensive treatment were full of prisoners temporarily transferred from Blackgate prison due to a fire that had taken place there. Just under two hundred additional inmates were now being held in cells used for low risk patients. The last thing they needed was agitated prisoners seeing Batman and starting a riot, which would in turn stir up the loonies into a chaotic frenzy. So reluctantly, they both stood back and watched as a single guard and male nurse led the Joker into the first cell area.

"Don't be a stranger!" the Joker quipped to Batman. "There's always a place for you here!"

As they led the Clown Prince of Crime away, the Batman said "Something's not right. He surrendered almost without a fight. He's up to something."

All of Gordon's previous concerns about tonight's activities came flooding back. He followed the dark knight as he walked into the cell block control room so he could watch the Joker's progress.

As the electric barrier fired up to block the way into the holding area, the Joker looked back at the now sealed off way out. As he turned his head his foot caught on something and he stumbled.

"Come on, get up!" the guard growled as the prisoner used his cuffed hands to break his fall. As the guard lent over to pull him to his feet, the Joker's eyes flashed.

His head jerked back, banging into the guards nose and cracking it. Before the nurse could turn to face the patient, he was on his feet, and now it was the guard on his knees. The Joker wrapped the chain of his handcuffs round the guard's neck and howled "Quick doc! There's something caught round his throat!"

"The Joker's free- alert the warden!" Batman exclaimed as Gordon grabbed his radio. Knowing the way into the holding area was blocked off, Batman stepped forward and swung his armored fist into the observation window. The glass splintered, but held.

"Hurry doc, we're losin' 'im!" the Joker faked desperation as he held the choking guard between him and the orderly trying to stop him. Panicking, the nurse obeyed the mad-man's demands and unlocked the handcuffs strangling the guard. At once, the Joker twisted the guard's head and broke his neck. A savage kick sent the orderly sprawling to the floor.

The Joker bounded on top of the man and whispered " '_Choke's_' on you!" before slamming an open palm into his throat and crushing his windpipe.

As the nurse writhed and clawed at his neck, the Joker pranced around like a mad thing, chanting to himself and reveling in his freedom.

The commissioner tried to call for backup, but his radio transmissions became jammed by the sound of static, punctuated by comedy laughter and screams of pain. Something was _very_ wrong.

With a powerful jump, Batman smashed through the damaged glass and down into the chamber. In response, the Joker pointed towards the electric barrier on the opposite side of the room, at shrieked to a security camera "Honey, I'm home!"

**"Come right on in Mr J." **a high pitched, piping voice blared from the speakers. Before anyone could compehend what was going on, the energy waves of the electricity gate vanished, allowing the Joker to race up the ramp and into the passageway.

"Welcome to the mad house!" he declared proudly as the energy conductors fired up to prevent Batman from following him. "I set a trap and you sprang it gloriously! Now then, let's get this party started!"

The Joker turned to depart, and as he did the cells in the holding area opened and a dozen Blackgate prisoners spilled out of them to surround Batman.

Unable to get in there to help and reluctant to use his gun on unarmed men, Gordon could only watch as the violence began. He desperately searched the computers beneath his hands to try and find some way to call for help, since his radio was now next to useless. Behind him, the steel door in the reception area slammed shut as a high security alert sounded throughout the facility.

Just another dark night in Gotham City.

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Except it wasn't an ordinary night. Far from it. In fact it was about to become the most out of the ordinary night the city had ever seen.

For within a derelict building near the gates of Arkham Asylum, something was happening. A single point of light had appeared in midair; a light that seemed to distort the area around it, as though it were an optical illusion. At the center of the point, chaos equivalent to an ending universe took place, wild energy particles threatening to react with nuclear fury as reality itself warped. As the minutes passed, the point of potential armageddon began to calm, balance out, and become reasonable.

Then, with a collection of wheezing, mechanical groans that echoed in the confined space, an object gradually faded into view. An object colored royal blue with the words 'Police Box' written over the door.

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_**A minor warning. I'm not officially starting this fic now. I'm justing posting it as proof that one day it will come, and also to claim a place for it before David leaves Doctor Who forever *crys uncontrolable*.**_

_**For those who don't know, this is a sequal to my fic**_ 'Dangerous Tenant', _**which I'd be very grateful if you would read and review it if you haven't already (not that you need to in order to understand this fic).**_

_**Thank you**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**I stick by what I said in the last chapter; that I'm not officially starting this story, but over a long period of time there may be the occasional update like this. So, please enjoy**_

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David Tennant as 'The Doctor'

Catherine Tate as Donna Noble

**DOCTOR·WHO**

Fun House

Doctor Who rights reserved to BBC et al.

Batman rights reserved to DC comics et al.

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The Doctor carefully went through the information displayed on the monitor, ignoring his bitterly depressing thoughts.

'_Never again_.' he reminded himself.

His thoughts still lay with Lady Christina de Souza, and her request to join him in his travels.

"Never again." he repeated aloud to the TARDIS.

The TARDIS was his only companion now. The Doctor looked at the aqua tinged column that rose from the middle of the circular console. In the past, some companions who had opted to leave him and return to a normal life had offered comfort by reminding him he still had the TARDIS. It was true, the TARDIS was the only consistent being that had remained with the Doctor throughout his whole life, but it wasn't quite the same as a person. Sure, the TARDIS was alive; it could think, and it was even telepathic. But it wasn't actually conscious.

The TARDIS had thoughts of it's own and sometimes it offered suggestions to the Doctor (or would just make decisions for him) but it didn't work in the same way that a conversation with a sentient, socially integrated life form did. The way the TARDIS communicated- the Doctor had never come up with a suitable comparison to describe it. Time Lords were one of the few races that had the correct senses and perception to understand the TARDIS' thoughts and feelings, so it wasn't easy to make people understand that although the time capsule was a living, thinking individual, it was no good as company.

He was lonely, but he wasn't looking for another companion. The pain he felt when he finally cut all ties to Rose Tyler, coupled with being forced to erase Donna Noble's memory and see everything they'd shared together come to nothing was too much for him. He couldn't take any more. Now he just wanted to be alone.

The TARDIS buzzed an alert, and the Doctor lethargically moved round the computer, changing settings and what not. In the same way in which the dimension that Rose was in had reacted to the reality bomb by having a faster time stream, so to other worlds whose time flowed quicker had been affected by the reality bomb detonation, even though it never actually took place. The resulting time/reality paradox threatened to make various worlds collapse on top of themselves and each other, leaving it to the Doctor, with occasional assistance from ruling bodies like the Shadow Proclamation, to repair the damage. He'd only returned to earth so recently because he'd thought the wormhole from San Helios was another crack in existence. He really wasn't in the mood to visit the human home world at the moment.

As he set a course for the reality crack, he vaguely wondered if he really would spend the rest of his life without a companion. He been hurt before, but right now was quite possibly the worst he'd ever been. There were times he'd gone for whole years without a single travelling partner because of some painful incident that forced him into solitude. This time might just be the one that made him permanently alone.

The TARDIS whined with a noise like a distressed cat, warning him the ship was right on top of the hole in reality. The Doctor set about investigating to find out exactly what sort of damage he was faced with.

The moment he hit the button to start the scan, the computer exploded from several points.

A klaxon sounded and the TARDIS abruptly lurched and tossed the Doctor into one of the twisting coral pillars that stood throughout the cavern like room.

"What the heck was that!" he barked out to no one in particular.

Another computer exploded and the TARDIS pitched the other way. The Doctor found himself sliding across the floor until he crashed into the console and nearly fell through a service hatch and into the engines. Above and around him, the sound of fire and hurricanes blared at deafening pitches. The TARDIS continued to roll and tumble through the fabric of existence itself, squealing as it threatened to snap in half under the immense pressure. The Doctor reached up and slapped blindly at a control panel, desperate to try and stabilise the ship, but the madness continued. The TARDIS cried out in his mind. The column that connected directly into the time vortex burned with snot green light as steam jetted from the base of it.

The Doctor managed to pull himself up onto the computer and looked up at the pillar in horror.

"This isn't just a crash," he said "something's poisoned you!"

The Time Lord made a slow and unsteady crawl towards a panel set into a section that bordered the controls. Smoke started to rise from the floor grating and small explosions racked the body of the ship. After making way to the hatch at a painfully slow rate, he slapped the surface twice, causing it to flip open and reveal the crystallised interior.

Instantly, he was struck blind; and then deaf. In a split second, every one of the Doctor's physical senses were drowned in a wash of psychic energy that escaped from the TARDIS. The Time Lord's mind was a kaleidoscope of wild, untamed mental power. The Doctor fell back as his brain teetered on the brink of destruction, the contaminated power coming from TARDIS turning the Doctor's comforting connection to the machine into a nightmarish leash.

The Doctor cried out as the pain reached its climax, and then he lost consciousness.

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With a powerful thrust from his legs, he jumped from the rock ledge and allowed himself to glide through the air. Below him, guards from both Blackgate and Arkham milled around in a disorganised mess. Without senior guards like Aaron Cash and treacherous Frank Boles to direct them, the former cut off in the overrun medical facility, the latter having been murdered on the Joker's orders after his use to the grinning criminal had run out, the security detail had fallen apart at the seams. Now they'd simply dug in with the hope they could hold off an attack from the Joker's hordes indefinitely. Unlikely.

With a 'whump' of jet black boots on concrete, he landed on the steps outside the botanical gardens, frightening an unsuspecting guard.

"Batman!" his gasped in surprise. "What's happening out there?"

"Joker's taken control; his crew is running wild." the dark knight explained simply.

"Aw, damn it!" the guard lamented. "Well, what should I do? Can I help?"

"Stay here and keep the gardens secure if you can. I work better alone."

The Batman turned away and headed down the steps. The guard looked like he was about to argue, but then the Joker's voice erupted over the island's general address system, and he scampered into the garden foyer like a wounded puppy.

"**Listen everyone. Harley tells me that the Batman's car is still parked outside of the intensive treatment building. Now, we can't just have him up and leave us, can we**?" the Joker left a sinister pause before continuing. "**Ever thug, villain, murderer and kinder garden teacher that isn't carrying out party orders should head there now and smash it to pieces**!"

As the message ended, the Batman's forearm mounted computer beeped with a proximity alert from his car. He quickly activated the communicator in his ear.

"Oracle," despite his familiarity with the information broker who used to be his partner in crime prevention, he still referred to her by code name "disable the Batmobile's countermeasure system."

Instantly, Barbara Gordon's smooth voice replied "**I saw the alert on my computers. What's wrong? Where are you**?"

"I'm outside the mansion. Harley Quinn probably triggered the alarm. If she's still got the commissioner with her, he might get hurt."

"**Alright**," he heard the sound of fingers racing over a keyboard "**I've shut off the security. Do you think my dad's okay**?"

Batman scowled as a hint of compassion for his old friend threatened to come to the surface. For years, Bruce Wayne had striven to bury all emotion whenever he took on the identity of Batman. He'd done his utmost to perfect the indifferent, subhuman personality that defined the Batman to his enemies. But there were times when his feelings couldn't be denied. Barbara had firsthand experience of how cruel the Joker and his puppet-like girlfriend Harley could be; it's was a bullet from the Joker's gun that put her in a wheelchair for life and ended her career as Batgirl. Her father, Commissioner Gordon hadn't fared so well on the same occasion either, only just escaping the Joker's clutches with his sanity intact. Now the city's most respected police officer was once again kidnapped by its most feared enemy, and he couldn't help but sympathise with Barbara.

"Joker won't have harmed him yet. He's using him as a distraction, not as part of his plan."

He began to head towards the tunnel that would lead him under the mountain like hill into the northern part of Arkham Island.

"I'm going to see if I can pick up Harley's trail at the Batmobile; maybe she'll lead me to Gordon."

"**Alright, but be careful. Joker must be planning something big if he wants to be isolated on that island without escaping, and I've still no explanation for that massive energy spike that came from somewhere near the intensive treatment facility**."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled. Batman out."

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The Doctor woke to the sound of whining gears and a low groaning. The moment he heard the noise he was on his feet.

Instead of appearing extinct and dormant as it was wont to when in parallel worlds, the TARDIS was wide awake and clearly suffering immensely.

"What's happening!" he asked as moved forward and stroked the column as though he could comfort the vessel. The column glowed dimly with a putrid emerald light that cast shadows in places that the blazing orange lights used to illuminate. It let out one of it's familiar wheezes, but the noise died and the teeth-clenching grinding sound started again.

"Something's infected the psionic interlinkers." the Doctor looked at the panel he'd opened, now closed thanks to the emergency system. With the power still partially working, the TARDIS had managed to sense the pilot's distress and responded accordingly.

"Now it's time to return the favour old girl." he said as he gave the pillar one last pat before moving away. Something from outside had managed to infect the TARDIS, and the only way it was going to work again was if the infection was cut off at the root.

The Doctor checked himself before opening the door. His mud brown hair was slightly singed by a stray spark in the crash, but apart from that it looked the same as it always did; wild and spiky. His pockets were full of random paraphernalia for any situation he might encounter (well, nearly any situation, providing it was strictly a casual, non life threatening situation). He didn't have anything with him that could be recognised as being from an obscure or bizarre world, so he would be more or less inconspicuous, apart from being amazingly tall and thin and wearing white trainers with a blue suit. He didn't bother to take his long coat; he always felt it clashed slightly with the suit, and there was no time to change. He regretted this as soon as he stepped outside the blue box. The air was chilly and a strong wing sang through the gaps in the decaying brickwork. It had clearly been raining.

The TARDIS had crash landed in a crumbling building. From what he could tell it was the size of a small house, yet he could deduce from the layout of the remaining walls that the structure had been created without domestic activity in mind. It looked as though it may have been once used as some sort of small office building.

Steeling himself against the cold, the Doctor locked the TARDIS door and made his way through the building's empty door frame. It was night. The Doctor looked over to his right and saw he was in some sort of secure compound, complete with a pair of guard towers and walls creating a box around a five hundred yard area, passage through the walls being given by a pair of huge metal sliding doors in each corner of the 'box'. On the far side of the landscape, a huge facility dominated everything. The Doctor could tell it wasn't particularly old, but it had a certain gothic feel to it. The lower story was wider than the upper story, leaving plenty of surfaces that could be walked on, but they had been secured from such a thing by long and bulky spikes sticking out of the lip of the first floor roof. From the top of the building, hideous gargoyles leered down, dragon and demon like faces acting as a personification of thinly veiled threat and disgust. Between him and the building, the Doctor could see two other structures through the bases of the guard towers that looked more like sheds. Possibly they were checkpoints, but the Doctor couldn't make them out properly.

In front of him, the wall changed into a cliff face. He could make out a glass dome peaking over the top of the rocks, its base somewhere on the other side. There was nothing else of interest, except for weeds and a rather out of place old see-saw. His gaze moved to the left where another wall stood between a pair of cliffs, with a wrought iron gate in the middle of it. A metal arch over the gate had letters spelt out in twisted iron bars. From where the Doctor stood the words were backwards, but he could see they spelt out 'Arkham Asylum'. He didn't like the thought of being in a mad house, but even worse was the fact he recognised the asylum name, and if he was right about where it came from, things were about to get very complicated.

"Freeze!" a harsh voice ordered.

The Doctor spun on the spot to face a man who'd just come from around the corner of the ruined building. If the place really was an asylum, the man he'd encountered was most certainly a security guard. His attire was completely black. The jacket and trousers he wore were padded, though not actually bullet proof. He wore a helmet with a metal grille for a face plate, which obscured his features even though the bars were pretty wide. The man was holding an assault rifle in his hands. The Doctor had no way of telling if the gun was loaded with rubber bullets or genuine ones, but he decided not to risk it. He raised his hands in the air quickly.

"Don't shoot; I'm unarmed!" the Doctor cried out.

"Yeah, like that means you're harmless, wacko!"

The guard gestured with his gun for the Doctor to move out into the open. He complied easily. The guard hands were shaking and his voice was breathless; he was obviously tense and highly strung. The Time Lord decided he'd best try calming the man down before he started shooting.

"Look, I'm not actually one of the patients here."

"If you're not one of the freaks, your one of the Blackgate scum, and that means one too many."

The guard cocked his weapon. The Doctor observed the barrel nervously. Possibly the guard was just making a hollow threat, but he certainly seemed prepared to kill an unarmed man. He could see it in his eyes. His eyes were full of fear.

"Look, if there's some sort of problem I'm sure I can help out, but first you've got to stop waving that gun around."

"I ain't taking orders from some ugly looking-"

The Doctor lost interest as the monologue took on a more obscene tone. As the Doctor looked around, his eyes noticed something peculiar- a pair of clockwork joke teeth, happily snapping away as it trundled across the ground on tiny little wheels, accompanied by a second set of teeth as they came from the direction of the facility towards the Doctor and the guard.

"Erm, sorry," the Doctor interrupted the guard's ranting "but I think you sho-"

"Shut up! I don't wanna hear a single word out of you!"

"I know, it's just that there's-"

"I said shut it!" the guard shoved the Doctor back several paces. "I want answers. What's going on in this place and what are you guys up to? And where's-" the man went on shouting while the Doctor did his best to ignore him and watch the progress of the teeth. The first one seemed to home in on the guard as though something were drawing them together. The guard didn't notice it at all until its chomping teeth bit down onto his boot.

"What the-"

The teeth exploded with the force of a grenade, throwing the Doctor flat on his back as magnesium blazed and coloured sparks whistled from the blast as though it were a firework.

The Doctor immediately looked up, but from where he lay there was no sign of the guard. The Doctor was allowed no time to grieve as a chattering came from his left. The second set of teeth was coming at the Doctor now, gnashing with menace.

The Doctor scrabbled along the ground like a crab, seeking to get away from the deadly novelty. The teeth continued to almost glide across on a collision course with the Doctor's hip. The Time Lord quickly got to his feet with a clumsy roll and hopped backwards as fast as he could. The teeth continued to follow.

Suddenly, the Doctor found himself back up against the wall. It was too high to climb and the gates were locked. With only one option available to him, he pulled the sonic screwdriver from his top pocket and directed a blast of energy at the thing that was now at his feet.

Quite to the Doctor's surprise, the teeth stopped instantly.

"What, is that it?" the Doctor asked himself. He looked down at the teeth, before he felt satisfied the danger had passed and scooped up the object.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" he mumbled as he inspected it. He looked down at the small crater which marked the demise of the anxious guard. What started as a look of pity turned into horror as a third set of teeth sped out of the tall grass round the derelict house towards the Doctor.

The Doctor struggled vainly to pull the screwdriver out again as the teeth came within biting distance.

A loud 'BOOM' erupted from a nearby revolver, and the joke teeth were blown to smithereens. A few sparks leapt from it as substances inside were ignited but the chemical reaction necessary for the full explosion failed to take place.

The Doctor swung his head towards the origin of the shot and saw a man with a very wide build, dressed in a formal looking suit and grey trench coat, pointing a gun at him through the gate.

"Your lucky night buddy," he drawled thickly "at least it is till I find out exactly who you are. Tony, get this gate open."

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Leaning against the side of a squad car, the Doctor found himself alone with the young police officer, Tony. The one in charge, detective Bullock, was trying to speak to someone over the radio of an unmarked police car, with apparently little success. What sounded like laughter and agonised screams kept blurting out of the receiver at random intervals. It looked like the Doctor would have some time to himself, as no one else seemed particularly interested in him.

There were three other police officers and two asylum security guards. The skeleton crew seemed nervous, and kept shooting glances at both the asylum and at the Doctor. From somewhere nearby the facility, the noise of an angry crowd wafted through the air. Clearly, something very bad was happening at the asylum.

"So, what's going on exactly?"

The policeman next to the Doctor looked at him vaguely and said "What?"

"Just, 'what's going on'? In general I mean."

"You're telling me you don't know? If that's true you're the only person in the city who doesn't."

"Well that's me." the Doctor grinned sheepishly. "So come on. Gimme a quick rundown of things."

"Can't you tell? Those maniacs have taken over the whole asylum and we're cut off from the mainland."

"That crowd in there doesn't sound like people with psychological disorders to me." the Doctor pointed out. "Sounds more like a restless lynch mob."

"They're the ones transferred from Blackgate prison, but they're just as crazy as the psychopaths."

"Why did they get sent here from a prison? And shouldn't there be more of you here to deal with this?"

The guard scowled at the Doctor. "Don't you know anything? The Joker's the one responsible for this. He obviously started the fire in Blackgate that got those prisoners sent here, and he was on radio just a minute ago saying if anyone comes on or off Arkham island he'll start blowing up bombs at random round the city."

"Oh I see," the Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully "someone's orchestrated this from the beginin- hang on." the Doctor's tone suddenly turned sour. "Did you say 'Joker'?"

"Yeah. Why; you're not going to tell me you haven't heard of him either?"

"Oh no, Tony, not at all." the Doctor looked grimly towards the ominous asylum gates. "I know precisely who he is."

The Doctor couldn't believe it. Of all things, he'd crash landed the TARDIS in the parallel world that provided the basis of 'The Batman' in his own world. The Doctor had seen enough of the films to know that the Joker wasn't someone you'd like to meet in real life. And from what young Tony was saying, he was accompanied by a horde of dangerous criminals and potentially psychopathic asylum patients.

"Why can I never crash land somewhere nice?" he asked out loud.

"Crash land?" the policeman asked. "You get here by plane or something?"

"Boat actually." the Doctor made up as he thought. Perhaps it was the combined madness of all the maniacs in the asylum that had contaminated the psyche of the TARDIS, although the machine had survived encounters with Bedlam and Deolali so there had to be some more to it. He had to find out what had damaged his ship and rectify it as soon as possible, otherwise he'd never be able to leave.

For now, however, he had no choice but to endure being a prisoner of the Gotham police force. With the free time he had, the Doctor decided to start examining the joke teeth he'd found.

Since the sonic screwdriver had been confiscated, the Time Lord had to handle the device with his hands. After about a minute of fiddling around with it, Tony asked gruffly "Do you have to keep moving around like that?"

"Well if you insist on wearing these," the Doctor nodded towards the handcuffs that held them together "Reminds me of friendship bracelets. Do you remember when friendship bracelets with big? 'Course, they didn't keep people chained together; that sort of thing probably gives out the wrong message to young children, but there was this one society I met that did exactly that- a friendship ceremony where two people would spend one day with their hands tied together. They let me take part in one, but their skin was very uncomfortable, and corrosive, so I had to duck out."

The officer looked away for a moment as he tried to make sense of what he'd just heard. The Doctor used the quick opportunity to crack open the teeth and look inside.

"What the 'ell are you talking about!" the man suddenly protested.

"Just saying, about how these handcuffs remind me of friendship bracelets. Bet the bloke who made this little nick-nack doesn't have many friends though- look."

He held the exploding teeth between them, with its workings exposed for all the world to see.

"Very nicely done. The winder that keeps the teeth moving is also the detonator. There's a small power cell at the back with a turbine generator that's turned by the movement of the jaw, to give extra power and prolong the time that the teeth can work. It has a thermal sensor disguised as the tongue to lead it to people via their own heat signatures. When the teeth bite down on something they jam and the winder snaps lose, setting off the explosion by igniting compacted semtex. The magnesium, phosphorous and other metals that give the firework effect are in the tips of the teeth, and they're shaped to look like fillings. Seems the Joker has an interesting sense of humour."

"Sense of humour?" officer Tony gave an ironic laugh. "That's one way to put it."

Just then, detective Bullock threw down the radio he was using in disgust and turned towards the Doctor. The Doctor quickly dropped the teeth into his pocket and straightened his suit politely.

"Ah detective," his said brightly "I was wondering when I'd get the chance to speak with you."

"You'll speak when you're spoken to, inmate."

The Doctor ignored the man's rudeness and went on. "There's been some sort of mistake. People seem to think I'm one of the prisoners from Blackgate prison, and that is just not true."

"I can see it isn't. I guy like you wouldn't last three seconds in Blackgate."

"Then why have I been arrested?"

"From the way you talk, you could easily be a nut escaped from the penitentiary."

"A what!"

"Alright, cut the act limey-"

"_Limey_!"

"I wanna know everything. Who you are, what you're doin' here, and what's goin' on in the asylum."

"Well, actually," the Doctor reached into his inside jacket pocket to get his psychic paper "I'm here for you gents. John Smith, public liaison officer between the local police and the citizen's police oversight committee."

The Doctor found himself disappointed with how slight Bullock's reaction was to the false revelation. He leaned forward to get a closer look at the psychic paper, then sneered at the person holding it.

"Well, well. I never thought I'd see an L.O. risk getting their hands dirty in a place like this. What you doin' here then?"

"I was..." the Doctor looked at Tony, aware that he'd already claimed he'd arrived there by boat and had crash landed "out, just rowing in the river, _aaaand_ I," the Doctor strained to come up with something feasible "took a wrong turn, and ran aground on some rocks, and had to leave my boat and come to the asylum to look for help."

Silence hung in the air as Bullock processed his story. The Doctor felt the pressure as the officer next to him looked on with an unconvinced gaze and Bullock sneered horribly.

"Some boatman you are, Smith." the detective scoffed before turning back to his car. Both the Doctor and Tony watched him go in surprise.

"I can't believe I got away with that!" the Doctor stated with pleased surprise.

"Sir," the police officer took a step forward, pulling the Doctor along with him by the handcuffs "his story doesn't sound genuine. Maybe we should question him further."

"Forget it, he's got I.D. and we ain't got the time." Bullock picked up the radio handset and tried to tune the reception correctly. "Un-cuff him and help me get a signal on this thing; looks like someone's trying to send a message from inside the asylum."

The Doctor grinned smugly as, with some reluctance, Tony removed the handcuffs from his wrist.

"Just stay there and be quite, Smith." Bullock warned. "Remember, no one's to leave the island, and we don't want no help from a civilian, and in case you're having any bright ideas, we ain't answering no questions about police brutality. This is an emergency."

With that, Bullock turned away from the Doctor, and everyone seemed to forget about him instantly.

The Doctor looked on for a moment as the tiny force went about their business, Bullock and Tony trying to find a channel that wasn't taken up by the sound of chaos, the others guarding the asylum gates and checking the walls for places people might climb over.

Displays of human courage never failed to impress the Doctor. True, most courageous humans insisted of resorting to violence in such situations, but he couldn't deny the admiration he felt when ordinary people were prepared to do the most illogical things because it was for a good cause.

'_Well I'm already here, so a slight delay can't hurt, can it_?'

The Doctor fiercely buried the disobedient thought. He hated the idea of leaving while there was a crisis, but this was a parallel world and he'd merely fallen into it by accident. He couldn't just dive in and start getting involved. As a Time Lord, it was his duty to leave before he influenced the goings on of that world too much and then seal up the gap in reality that had allowed him to fall through in the first place.

"Hey limey!" Bullock suddenly called, distracting the Doctor from his thoughts. "Get over here will ya."

"Look detective, I really don't think I should be getting involved with police matters." the Doctor swore he felt his hearts skip a pair of beats. The Doctor, giving way to an official authority _and_ protesting about getting involved? Unheard of!

"Never mind that. Your weird stick thing has damaged my radio."

In the blink of an eye, the Doctor was their protesting "What do you think you're doing with my sonic screwdriver!"

"A _what_ screwdriver!" Bullock asked. "What's it supposed to do?"

The Doctor snatched the device from Bullock who was holding it between thumb and forefinger as though it were toxic.

"Why were you using it?"

"I was checking it. I saw you trying to use it to control those exploding teeth. Thought maybe it was one of the Joker's toys."

"It's my toy actually and it's not for controlling those teeth. It's a delicate tool."

"Well it's gone and messed up my radio. It won't work at all now. Some tool."

With an exasperated sigh, the time/space traveller switched settings and activated the sonic screwdriver against the side of the fitted radio in the car. The radio spluttered into life, and got through to a clear channel instead of the screams and laughs that had haunted the waves before.

"There, see? Good as new!"

The Doctor put the sonic screwdriver back in his top pocket and turned away.

"**Hello! Is anyone there! For God's sake, just answer already!"**

Detective Bullock snatched up the hand held radio transmitter while the Doctor turned back at the sound of the voice coming from the receiver.

"This is Bullock; go ahead."

**"Bullock? What d'you mean****, Bullock? Am I through to the police or a farm yard?"**

The Doctor's eyebrows narrowed. There was something wrong with the voice coming from the radio.

"Who is this!" the detective demanded from the voice. "You're not from police HQ!"

**"No I'm not, and I never said I was so don't get shirty with me pal!"**

Then it came to the Doctor. There was nothing wrong with the voice, it was the accent. It was English, not American.

"I said 'who is this'?"

**"Nurse Danielle Noble; Arkham Asylum children's ward."**

The Doctor's knees buckled in shock.

Noble? _Noble_!

The Doctor tried to get to grips with what he was hearing.

Danielle Noble; a voice that was so recognisable, and an attitude that left no doubt.

He'd just encountered Donna Noble's parallel dimension alter ego!

Bullock went to answer, but instead ended up doing a double-take as the Doctor's rapier thin body slipped round his bulk and into the seat of his car.

"Wadda' think your doin', Smith!" he objected.

"I'm the public liaison officer." said the Doctor, and grabbed the transmitter from Bullock's hand. "Hello? Don- Danielle, can you hear me?"

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"Of course I can hear you! That's what _I_ just asked!" Danielle raged into the radio. She did her best to ignore the fact that the radio was dripping with blood from the guard who used to own it. Around her, the whimpers of children filled the air while another very stressed out nurse tried to keep them quite. One of the killers from Blackgate had already been and gone, but there was no telling if or when they might come back.

**"Alright, just stay calm and tell me what's wrong."**

"_What's-wrong_?" she hissed like a python. "Do I really need to give you a description? There's lunatics all over the place. What else could be wrong?"

The person on the other end of the radio seemed to give a sigh of frustration before continuing with **"Okay then. Now give me all the details so I know how best to deal with it."**

Danielle thought she might scream with impatience, but knew she had to stay calm if she was going to get anywhere with this person.

"Me and another nurse are hiding in the children's ward. Someone came here a moment ago and they killed the guard outside! They've gone now but I don't know where, and all the other guards are dealing with people in the rest of the medical facility."

**"Alright, tell me where the medical facility is and we'll get you out of there."**

"What do you mean 'Where is it'? Haven't you got a map or something?" Danielle said, but her words were ignored as someone else on the other end of the line started shouting **"Wait a minute; I'm the one who gives orders and no limey is goin' over **_**my**_** head!"**

She wondered if she were really through to the police after all, instead of another one of the Joker's trick broadcast channels. With no other option, however, she went to speak again.

Just then, the doors to the hallway were kicked open.

"Well, well; what have we here?" Harley Quinn strode into the room, her garishly coloured costume like a blot against the pure white walls of the small reception.

"They built a children's ward. Isn't that cute? Mr J's gonna be thrilled when he finds out even the kids of Gotham are losing their minds as well."

There was a slam from the other end of the room as the second nurse shut the doors into the ward itself. The sound of a lock turning was followed with deathly silence as those inside waited to hear what would happen with those outside.

"Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me." Danielle whined as she looked at the closed double doors, leaving her with no other exit from the reception except the one guarded by Harley's goons.

"Bad luck, Red. Guess you're stuck with me now."

Danielle turned to face the super villain with an exasperated glare, the sing-song voice already grating on her nerves.

"Looks like it. Nice get up, by the way. Looks like something that escaped from a sixties disco."

While Harley's face looked as it always did, with white powered skin and a black mask across her eyes like something out of a masquerade ball, her costume had changed from the usual jester style bodysuit to fire engine red corset belted over a white blouse, and fingerless gloves with long sleeves that stop just above her elbows. The tops of her thighs were left bare by the white skirt she wore, and were further exaggerated by fishnet stockings poking out of the top of platform boots that went all the way up her legs. She'd dispensed with the fool's cap she used to wear, and now her sunny blond hair was revealed in two wavy pigtails either side of her head.

"Don't try and be clever, babe." Harley warned as she brandished a wooden cane that had previously belonged to the warden. "Mr J is the one in charge of the laughs round here."

"Well I don't hear anyone laughing right now."

"Oh don't worry Red. Things'll really liven up once the kids join the party."

With that, Harley tossed the cane down on a nearby desk and pulled an assault rifle from where it hung from her back.

Donna slightly recoiled as the younger women approached the door. She couldn't even begin to imagine the nightmare that would take place if the Joker got his hands on the dozen or so children in there, and it wouldn't take Quinn long to shoot the lock off the door, yet there was no one around who could stop her. No guards, no police.

Just her...

'_Why have I got to do this_?' Danielle thought. '_This is so not my job_.'

Nevertheless, she reluctantly stepped forward to challenge the crazed villain.

" 'ere, that's far enough you fruit cake. No one goes into _my_ ward without _my_ say so."

Predictably, Harley turned and pointed the gun at the nurse instead.

'_Nice work. What's the encore, grenade juggling?'_

"Who you calling a fruit cake, lady? Do you even know who you're talkin' to?"

Danielle's mouth opened to reply, but Harley, sensing facetiousness, ploughed on.

"I'm Harley Quinn, the Joker's right hand girl and his sweetie pie!" Harley practically swooned with delight, and Danielle's face crumpled in disgust. "Guess you being a Brit means you're pretty out of touch with all the hot news."

Danielle's eyes narrowed at the slur against her.

"I don't need to know all the hot news to guess that you're the Joker's girl. He looks like he goes for the dumb blond type."

Now it was Harley's turn to narrow hers eyes, her day-dreamish grin falling into fury.

"Hey, where d'you get off speaking about me and my puddin' like that! I ought to plug you right now, and some of kids along with you!"

"Well," the nurse decided to take the chance she'd been waiting for "why don't you take me wherever you're going and I can really tell you what I think of you and 'puddin'? I don't really want to say these sort of things where the kids might hear me."

Quinn stalked over to Danielle with an evil glint in her eye. The nurse thrust her hands into the pockets of her green nurse uniform trousers and glared defiantly back.

"Oh, I see your game now." Harley sneered. "You want me to take you to where we're gonna hold up and leave the kids behind. Nice try, but why do you think I'd ignore them just for you?"

Danielle shrugged and said "I don't know. Maybe because of..." she removed a hand from one of her pockets- "this?" - and sprayed a can of CS gas she'd taken from the dead guard right into Harley's face.

The former psychiatrist screamed as the gas stung her eyes even as she darted back out of Danielle's range. The nurse went to follow her, but one of the thugs who'd been waiting at the door stepped forward and slapped the spray out of her hand.

Harley quickly recovered from the attack and spun around, catching the butt of her rifle against Danielle's head, knocking the woman cold.

"_You little bitch_!" Harley's banshee howl echoed though the empty hallways of the medical facility.

"You!" she barked at the lackey who'd come to her rescue. "Grab her by the hair and drag her along with us. I'm gonna make her wish she'd never been born."

As the Blackgate prisoner dragged the stunned woman to the door, the other grunt asked nervously "What about the kids, Miss Quinn? We takin' 'em or not?"

"Forget them; it's not like they're going anywhere." she answered with a disgusted look at the man.

Taking the hint, the guy shut up as Harley stormed out of the children's ward reception and down the hall

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The Doctor listened silently until the footsteps had died away and nothing more came through from the discarded radio.

'_Donna, what have you just gotten yourself into?_' he thought with dread.

"Wow, what a crazy girl." Bullock muttered. "Who'd be stupid enough to take on someone like Quinn?"

The Doctor got out of the car and faced the detective with a dark look. In his anger he seemed to tower over the police officer, even though he was only an inch or two taller.

"She just stopped a dangerous psychopath from taking a dozen or so children hostage. She put herself at risk to try and protect innocent people from coming to harm. Last time I looked, the police were hiding behind a wall. I don't think you're in any position to judge nurse Noble."

"Hey, get off my case." Bullock protested. "We're doin' everything we can right now."

"So what are you going to do about the people trapped in the medical facility?"

"Well, what can we do? We go in there with just the seven of us we'll be torn apart."

"So you're just going to wait while a massacre takes place and not lift a finger to stop it?"

"We're _going_ to do somethin'," Bullock growled, aiming a threatening finger at the Doctor as though it held destructive powers "as soon as we work out a sensible strategy. We don't need tellin' what to do from you."

"We haven't got time to come up with a sensible strategy, and I'm not going to wait around while you come up with one." hissed the Doctor, before pushing passed the detective angrily.

The Doctor felt a rage and determination well up inside him. Donna was somewhere in that complex, just as stupid and small minded... and wonderfully brilliant as ever. She was facing certain death, just like she had just few months ago. Only this time, he wasn't powerless to help her.

Damn the rules, and damn the consequences! Donna had sent him a heated command to be rescued, and he was going to answer.

"You're not going anywhere!" Bullock shouted as the Doctor headed towards the asylum gates. "A public liaison officer and you think you can take on hundreds of criminals and loonies! Who d'you think you are, Smith!"

"I'm not just public liaison." the Doctor spun round and pulled his psychic paper from his pocket. "Former Gotham City homicide detective, now private investigator, known throughout the underworld circles as the Doctor!"

Bullock sighed.

"Great, another wacko vigilante with a dumb name and a bad costume."


	3. Chapter 3

Batman stepped out of the medical facility, seething with rage. As he stepped over the bodies of the unconscious punks he'd just dealt with he forced himself to breathe deeply and slightly stretch the muscles in his limbs and back as a variation of a meditation maneuver he often employed.

As his anger began to subside, he forced himself to put the current situation into perspective.

His objective was to recapture the Joker. Once he was locked away the rest of the miscreants would be pretty easy to subdue. But the Joker had vanished into the vaults of extreme isolation in the intensive treatment building. He could be anywhere by now. It would take time to search for him, and he'd already made it clear that if anyone tried to stop him, Harley would have her fun with commissioner Gordon. So the first thing to do was rescue the commissioner, but the electric barrier in the medical facility reception was powered up and virtually impassable. Harley's gloating taunts still rang in his ears from when he'd just gone in there to find her lounging with her feet up on the desk, so close to the Dark Knight's grasp but safe behind the security gates.

He had to find a way in, and fast. Fortunately only the imported criminals were on the loose at the moment, but the Joker wouldn't be able to resist unleashing the lunatics for long. Already some of the more brutal patients had been set loose, such as Victor Zsasz, and that monster from the mobile cell.

Batman thought back to the battle with that thing.

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_The cell hung from a chain linked to a transport rail on the ceiling. It was made of lead and was big enough to contain a bear. On top, the Joker stood proudly. He gazed down as Batman entered the chamber and the automatic doors locked shut._

_"What took ya so long?" he mocked._

_Batman had no words for the twisted monster. The only reply he gave was a batarang. The curved throwing star, shaped vaguely like the spread wings of a bat, soared up at the Joker. The blades were sharp, but the discus was made so that the chances of causing actual bodily harm were minimal, even if it struck the head._

_It made no difference. The Joker bent his knees and ducked as the winged claw passed over, only to connect with the heavy chains that carried the cell._

_Unfazed, Batman growled "There's no escape Joker. I _will _find you."_

_"Oh!" the Joker laughed in his face. "I'm counting on it..."_

_The Joker's foot stamped down on the metal container, and the door opened and fell off, toppling into seemingly bottomless pit that separated the platform Batman stood on and the industrial sized doors that roof rail led to._

_"... just not yet!"_

_The hand that reached out of the confined cell was wrong; bigger than a man's head, nails black as coal, the arm that followed covered in emerald lumps. The figure inside moved out of the cell and leapt on to the platform to join the Batman._

_The body of the creature bulged with coiled muscles, hunching under its own weight, revealing pieces of spine jutting out of its skin like a ridge of spikes down its back. Its eyes gazed with a green glow, and the roar it cried out with wobbled and reverberated in its throat. Fangs for teeth and knobbly, trollish skin gave the finishing touches to the monster._

_"Hoh hoh hoh, he's a big one!" chuckled Joker._

_As the Batman looked on in wonder, he noticed that the only piece of clothing the beast had was a pair of prison issue gray pants that were shredded by the swollen monster muscles till they resembled shorts._

_Blackgate prison issue to be precise._

_No way in a million years would something like this be kept in a standard state prison, which meant the monster in front of him had been one of the Blackgate prisoners until recently._

_Until the Joker arrived._

_The fight had been thankfully quick. The monster was cumbersome and careless, easily dodged and struck, but his blows were deadly. At one point his eyes had been stung by a batarang, and he lashed out blindly, catching the Dark Knight with a backhander that nearly broke a rib. The fight had only gone on for a minute or two before the unknown creature stopped and staggered in pain. There was a squelch, and his head bulged out as though his brains had just burst. Then he keeled over backwards and hit the floor with a shuddering quake._

_"Well, that was unexpected, wasn't it?" the Joker teased. "Oh well. Note to self: need stronger test subjects."_

_Test subjects? So it was true- the Joker had created that thing. How had he done it, and how many more might he have at his disposal?_

_"Seeing as how I'm feeling generous, I'll give you this one for free." the Clown Prince of Crime stepped on to the tip of the cell, balancing on the edge of oblivion as the dizzying drop stretched away beneath him._

_"Knock me off- I dare you!" Joker challenged. "End this; pull the plug; stop me once and for all!"_

'It's too dangerous just to let him get away.' _thought Batman while the Joker spread his arms wide to accept the attack. _'If he made that creature, he could make more. I may not get out of Arkham alive while he's in control, and then there'll be no one to challenge him or his monsters. I've got to stop him now!'

_Batman pulled another batarang from his belt, allowing it to unfold to its full size. The Joker wouldn't dodge, for he knew no fear. A flick of the wrist would send him plummeting to his death. The Batman pulled back his arm and began to take the swing that would knock the Joker's feet out from under him._

_The arm jammed in mid swing. The Joker watched with mocking eyes._

_So easy, it would be. Easy as throwing an object to end a life; to cross the line of morality that every criminal and crime fighter had to face at some time._

_In his mind's eye, the Batman saw all the death he'd come across in his life- innocent people he'd been too late to save, courageous police officers overwhelmed by a super criminal, a drunken mugger who'd been so horrified by the sight of the Batman's shadow he'd actually shot himself rather than endure being stalked by the caped crusader anymore, and his own parents gunned down in front of him because they'd happened to have walked down an ally instead of the sidewalk._

_Death- as easy as that. Easy as a change in routine. Easy as a random twist of fate._

_Too easy._

_"WAH HA HA HA HAAA, ha ha ha!" Joker guffawed as he saw Batman couldn't bring himself to take a life. "You're getting too predictable Bats!"_

_Suddenly, unseen machinery started up and the cell the Joker was using began to slide along the track on the roof._

_"Well I'd love to stay and chat but I have a party to organise. I've got guests flying in from all over Arkham. You'll seeeee-he he he he!"_

_The Joker disappeared as the cell carried him into extreme isolation and the two armoured doors cut off his giggling._

_Bruce Wayne didn't allow the taunt to get to him. The Joker had escaped again, but that was better than what would have happened if he'd attempted the alternative solution._

_The Batman wouldn't add to the pile of dead in Gotham. Not now; not ever._

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There was still no explanation for the monster he'd confronted. 'What was it?', 'What did the Joker have to do with it?', and 'What were the Joker's plans for it?' were questions that required urgent answers. As long as Commissioner Gordon was at the mercy of the Joker's right hand, he couldn't afford the time to start investigating. The scanner built into his cowl clearly showed that a faint trace of the tobacco that he knew Gordon smoked led into the medical building, proving that that was where he'd find the chief of police. With the security turned against him, the Batman resolved he'd have to find his own way in.

The grappling hook found comfortable purchase in the facility's roof, pulling Batman up to it in an instant. From there, Batman was sure that a building as old as this was bound to have some weak point in the roof which his explosives could blast a way through.

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The Doctor's eyes missed nothing. They saw the Batman.

Who else could it be? A figure with the appearance of a wraith gracefully making his way across the roof of the medical facility, knocking open a chunk of brickwork with a small explosion, and then vanishing without a trace.

Hopefully they wouldn't meet each other, the Doctor thought. He wasn't very clear on what the famous Batman's personality would be like (pretty stupid of him since one of his previous incarnations had helped with the special effects for 'Batman Forever') but he got the feeling he was a pretty grumpy fellow. The Doctor didn't have time to get into any arguments with violent vigilantes; Donna's life was in danger.

The Time Lord made his way down the slope past the visitors centre and over to the steps that led to the medical facility entrance. There were several unconscious bodies in front of the door, but since they all had ultra short hair and many were sporting tribal tattoos, he assumed they were Blackgate criminals and paid them no mind.

In the medical building reception, the Doctor applied the sonic screwdriver to the control panel for the electric gate. It took a good three minutes to shut off the power. Whoever programmed it was very skilled with electronics, but soon enough the way through was clear. The Doctor took the hallway to the left, following the sign for the children's ward. As he approached the corner he was aware that he might come face to face with a guard, or an escaped inmate, or perhaps a whole gang of thugs getting ready to storm the ward, but considering the urgency of the situation-

_'Don't really have much choice, do I?'_

The Doctor rounded the corner as confidently and casually as he could, and was very surprised to find a very big box, wrapped up Christmas style, sitting in the middle of the hall.

"Hello, what have we here?" he asked the box.

No answer.

The Doctor walked up to the box and began to examine it further.

"Don't touch it!" cried a worried voice.

Looking up, the bogus private eye saw that he was just outside the children's ward foyer. The doors to the ward were ajar, and a young woman's face peaked through the gap.

"Oh, hello." the Doctor gave a cheerful wave then pointed at the box. "Sorry; is this yours?"

"It's a trap!" the girl exclaimed hysterically. "The men from Blackgate left it there to keep us here!"

"Why, what is it?" the Doctor asked as he looked at the present, giving it an experimental tap with his foot. No sooner had he touched it than a loud ticking came from within.

"Not really a very good idea." he berated himself.

The tick-tock of the timer came to an end with the sound of an alarm clock, and the lid of the present burst open. The Doctor reeled back, spluttering as green fumes swamped him. Turning away, he fell to his knees as he tried to cough the gas out. As he fought to clear his lungs, he felt an odd change come over him. Something in the gas was affecting his nervous system.

Kneeling in the hallway, he felt the corners of his mouth involuntarily stretch upwards as a gasping chuckle escaped from his throat.

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Beyond the hallways in the sanitarium, four of Harley's goons were lying unconscious from various different injuries. A fifth one was scuttling around past the lower level operating theatres, bent over to try and make himself as small as possible. His shaved head was sweating as stress and fear worked their influence upon him

"Where are you!" he muttered nervously as he spun round and started walking backwards. He panned his submachine gun in a forty five degree arc, carelessly giving away where he was looking for the adversary that had defeated his friends. He looked to the shadows and to the stairway at the opposite end of the room. No sign of anything.

"Ah, hell with this!" he exclaimed as his back hit the fire ladder that led from the lower level to the ground floor level. He quickly ascended it, and then began to scamper towards the doors on the other side of the infirmary that would lead out of the medical facility. As he passed the fenced off area in front of the elevator, he froze, then doubled back with the inspiration of taking one of the four hostages as a human shield.

In front of the elevator, two nurses had been strapped down to beds normally used to hold crazed patients during medical examinations. Kneeling on the floor next to them was a senior male nurse and a red-headed female doctor.

"You, get up!" the thug grabbed the doctor by the bun her hair was pulled tightly into. "You're my ticket out of here!"

The senior nurse, in a moment of bravery, looked like he might protest, but before he could speak the great brute shouted out at the top of his voice.

"BATMAN! I know you can hear me! I'm getting out of here and I'm taking the doc with me! Try anything and she'll go the same way as this old man's goin'."

The man of the floor looked up in horror as the villain adjusted his grip so he held the doctor's hair in his left hand and pointed his gun with the right.

"No, please!" he spluttered in terror.

"Don't do this!" the doctor gasped, unable to maintain her cool demeanour.

The thug paid no heed to them. He pulled the doctor behind him, out of the line of fire, and prepared to shoot.

Then everything went black.

Suddenly, with a faint flap of material and a rush of air, the escaped convict was engulfed in darkness. Something seized his wrist and crushed the joint, causing an instant hand paralysis that prevented him from pulling the trigger. Before he could cry out, the dark cloud retracted, taking him with it. The man tried to escape, but with the all enveloping darkness around, he couldn't tell what part of his body had been gripped.

Unexpectedly, the darkness drew back sharply, allowing him to see. The cape that had covered him flapped away, and revealed the attacker.

Batman.

The criminal's resolve collapsed into panic as he came face to face with the vigilante. The jaw of the crime fighter held the cruel mouth in a furious grimace, while the black-as-coal eyes blazed with hate. The criminal struggled frantically to break free of the hand around his throat, the lack of oxygen combining with his thundering blood pressure to drain his mind of reasonable thought, leaving nothing but mindless, overwhelming fear.

Then the Batman let go. The felon plummeted about two feet towards the infirmary floor, only to feel a tight coil tug at his suddenly bound ankles. The man's unrestrained upper body followed the pull of gravity, and in no time at all the prisoner was left dangling by his feet from the old gargoyle that Batman crouched on.

Batman jumped from the out dated stone effigy and hit the floor, combining both a graceful touchdown and an ominous thud of his armoured weight that left the hostages he'd just saved gazing at him in awe. Above them the goon cried out weakly, pleading for mercy as the blood rushed to his head, having disastrous effects on his already strained body. He soon lost consciousness, but no one paid him any attention.

"Batman!" the doctor said. "Thank God you're here. We were just doing our rounds and then suddenly they burst in here and started shooting."

"Why were they gathering the doctors?" the caped crusader ignored the emotional strain the woman must have endured and got straight down to business, as was his style.

"I... don't know. Harley Quinn was with them and she said the Joker wanted all the doctor's rounded up."

"Aw man!" the nurse exclaimed as he turned away from releasing one of his trapped fellows from the secure beds. "I saw some of those guys head off into the rest of the building. There's at least three other doctors in here; we have to help them!"

"Don't worry, I'll find them." Batman assured him. "Did Quinn go looking for them?"

"No, she went down in the elevator, and they've locked it down." The doctor rejoined the conversation.

"Was anyone with her?"

"There were plenty of those Blackgate prisoners, but they had two others with them as hostages. One of them looked like the Commissioner Gordon. The other was one of the nurses from the children's ward."

"Alright, stay here. I'm going to go and look for the other doctors."

Without waiting for a reply, Batman stalked away from the staff members and jumped over the rail to drop down to the lower level of the medical facility, where the door to the rest of the building was. As he moved towards the door, he couldn't help but wonder why Harley had bothered to take one of the nurses with her.

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The Doctor flipped the switch, and the air conditioning blew frigid air into the hallway, dispersing the Joker gas till it was more or less harmless. With the canisters in the package sealed with the sonic screwdriver, no more of the poison could come flooding into the corridor.

"Thank God for respirator bypass." The Doctor said to himself as he felt his mouth to make sure his face muscles were no longer reacting to what little of the toxin he'd breathed in before he'd closed up his lungs. A curious venom- the gas had affected his nervous system, forcing his body in a massive spasm like a coiled spring, contributing to the grin appearing on his face. Even though he'd only breathed in a tiny amount of gas, the Time Lord had been in a considerable amount of pain. No doubt inhaling the maximum amount resulted in pure agony, though where the laughing came from was totally baffling to him. The Joker was apparently a chemical genius- it didn't take a superhero to work out that he was responsible for the poison.

The Doctor flexed his muscles to assure himself that all symptoms of the gas had subsided. Happy with the results, he turned to the door of the children's ward. The door had been shut again, and it didn't look like it was going to open again anytime soon. Sighing a little, the Doctor took aim and activated his sonic screwdriver. The tumblers in the lock and hinges rattled a little. The door could no longer be opened from the outside. That should be enough to keep the occupants safe for now.

Leaving behind the children's ward and now safe joker gas containers, the Time Lord continued on through the corridor towards the sanitarium. He unlocked the door and entered, surprised to find himself among the remains of a blown up operating room wall along with an armed and knocked out escaped prisoner. A strong wall of smell hit the Doctor; gunpowder overlaying the scent of medicine.

Looked like the Bat had been busy.

His sensitive ears detecting voices, the Doctor moved into the room along a walkway that overlooked a lowered area where a pair of double doors on the opposite end of the room led into the rest of the facility. He came to the entrance of a walled off section on his right, where hushed voices were coming from. Deciding that they didn't sound hostile, the Doctor rounded the corner to confront the owners of the voices, and the first thing he was struck by was the fact that there was a Blackgate prison thug dangling by his ankles from a stone gargoyle.

'_Okay, the Bat's been _very_ busy.'_

"Who are you?" said a doctor with shockingly red hair, accompanied by a burley looking man in a nurse's uniform with plenty of neatly trimmed facial hair. Another two nurses were apparently recovering their wits whist lying on a pair of beds.

Waving the psychic paper, the Doctor introduced himself. "John Smith, Arkham human resources dep. I managed to escape from the offices when the Joker's men took over, and this seemed like the best place to go."

He decided it was better to avoid spreading the story that he was a private eye acting for the police where possible, as that could lead to awkward questions. People tended to question authority.

"Well you came to the wrong place, bud." said the nurse. "This whole building was just overrun by Harley Quinn. There's more of those animals everywhere, and Harley's down in the lower levels with hostages. I'm Chris Cox, this is Doctor Cassidy."

"Nice to meet you. Do you know if they had a nurse called Danielle Noble with them?"

"You mean that English girl with a bad temper?"

The Doctor internally sighed and smirked at the same time. Yep, that was her.

Doctor Cassidy said "I saw them taking her into the elevator. Looked like she had Harley worked up about something."

"Alright then, I need to get down there and help." the Doctor approached the lift, but noticed it had one of the complicated security locks in place that had originally blocked his entrance to the building, and asked "Does anyone know the code for this?"

The others looked at him dumbfounded.

"You can't go down there!"

"Is that a joke?"

"You'll open a whole can of worms if you get anywhere near those maniacs."

Clearly the staff didn't feel entirely comfortable with him going to confront Harley and her goons. He looked at them carefully, seeing past there incredulous expressions and into their eyes. There was fear there. The Doctor could recognise fear well- in companions who found themselves out of their depth after having met the Time Lord; in people he found beset by alien creatures they didn't understand; even in himself, all the way back those hundreds of years ago when he stood as a boy before the Untempered Schism.

'_And in Donna's eyes when she realised what I was going to do to her before the meta-crisis burnt her up.'_

The Doctor shook his head. Where had that come from?

The others were still gazing at him in confusion of his suggestion.

"You can't go down there, man." one of the traumatised nurses said. "Anyone down there is lost."

"We've gotta get outta here while we still can." agreed the other.

"We can't just leave Danielle and the commissioner down there." the Doctor insisted. "We're the only ones who know they're down there, and we could be running out of time."

"The Batman's already here. Leave it to him." Cassidy stated firmly.

The Doctor couldn't help but think that it was a pretty strong argument. Batman was clearly more suited to the job at hand, hunting down these 'super criminals' and rescuing hostages. And the woman his was looking to save wasn't the one who come bounding aboard his TARDIS after a year of searching for him. It was just some other woman called Danielle. He had no real reason to be there, and should be searching for whatever it was that had caused his time capsule to crash.

But he couldn't. He couldn't turn his back on Danielle Noble and the others who'd been captured as part of the Joker's plans.

Because every time he thought about it (and he had) he imagined what Donna would say if she knew he was leaving people in the lurch and high tailing it out of there.

It had to be him. It just had to be, for her sake.

"I'm not taking a risk like that with people's lives." the Doctor gave them one of his powerful glares, usually reserved only for enemies. "I'm going to save Danielle, and anyone else down there. Now how do I get this lift open?"

They all backed off a bit at the look on his face. The Doctor couldn't care less about how he made them feel. His own emotions were unusually frayed by the current circumstances, and the last thing he was going to worry about was-

"This Danielle; she mean something to you, Smith?"

The Doctor fixed Chris with an ambiguous look. To hear his own uncertain questions voiced openly and so directly took him by surprise. In a way he didn't want it to be as simple as that. He was violating the laws of the universe, as laid down by his own people and enforced by his own strength, and all because of a likeness of an old friend. Did this woman mean something to him? Did he want her to?

Once again in conflict with himself, the Doctor mumbled that she was just a friend.

"Security officer Cash is somewhere in the facility." Sarah spoke again. "The elevator codes have been changed, but he knows the base codes that can override the locks."

"Brilliant!" suddenly the Doctor was all smiles again. "I'll go see if I can find him. You lot better find somewhere to hide."

Before anything else could be said, John Smith quickly ushered the others out of his way and headed to the doors that went into the rest of the building, sliding down the ladder to the lower floor with feline grace.

The Doctor found himself at a junction, one corridor going off to the left, another going straight ahead, each one up and down a flight of stairs respectively. Judging from what he'd seen of the medical facility from the outside, he figured the smaller area and the one that would be quickest to search would be to the left. He ascended the flight of stairs quickly, moving through plastic flaps that were often found hanging from the ceilings of medicinal installations. The Doctor walked briskly down the white walled corridor, his feet making barely a sound on the green plastic tiled floor. The only noise he could hear was that of the overhanging television screen that was prattling on about on the Warden's hopes and plans for Arkham.

"Let me introduce you to the sterling work of our new head of research, Doctor Penelope Young. Since joining-" the Doctor half listened to the T.V, vaguely noting that he didn't know of any Warren Sharp from the Batman franchise. He continued listening as a stern faced woman appeared on the screens instead, hoping to keep his mind distracted.

"Projects Titan's goal is to strengthen the weaker patients, not physically up to the challenges our medical practice presents, to cope with the damaging changes caused by intense psychosis. Thanks to the study of 'Patient X' the Titan process has high expectation. We owe our thanks for the addition of 'Patient X' to our benefactors-" the recorded message droned on a little more, praising and glorifying Arkham and people associated with it, before jumping back to Warren Sharp as the tape replayed again.

Normally the Doctor would have made some casually teasing comment to make light of the abject pomposity of the constantly repeating message, but there didn't seem to be any point right now. There was no one with him to tell them about it. No one to discuss the plan for getting the better of the bad guys. No one to argue with or to comfort in order to pull the Doctor away from his own thoughts. Right now, only sheer willpower kept his subconscious at bay, and it was a losing battle.

'_Never again_,' he reminded himself constantly. '_Never again_.'

The effect of his conversation with the doctor and nurses by the lift was still bugging him. Why was he doing this, really? Did he think he'd achieve something? Hadn't he made a promise to himself?

'_Never again_.'

Friends hurt. That was all it came down to. In the eyes of others it seemed so simple, thinking that Donna (no, Danielle) meant something to him. But he knew very well that all she meant was a quick burst of emotional pain and the birth of several 'what if' questions as he would no doubt compare his inevitable meeting with Danielle to the times he'd spent with Donna. A flash of unexpected angry suddenly surged through the Doctor at this. Why did his friends always hurt him? Where were they when he needed them? They were unfair thoughts, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it; he wanted to be angry and resentful and bitter. Wanted to run up to all those people who'd abandoned him and shout 'Look, it's me the Doctor! I showed you the universe and saved your world hundreds of times! Doesn't that mean anything to you!'

But he couldn't, because they were all gone. It was just him now. Him and the TARDIS. The Doctor forced his dark thoughts back again as he remembered what had brought him there in the first place. That's why he was doing this; to save the TARDIS, his longest serving companion. Saving Donna Noble's alter ego was nothing but an incidental courtesy. He kept trying to convince himself of this as he came to another junction.

The Time Lord didn't have a chance to decide what direction to take as he was distracted by the sound of footsteps coming from the right. Stepping round the corner, he confronted whoever it was with a beaming smile which became very frozen as he set eyes on the stranger.

The Doctor was tall, but this person was still nearly a head taller than him. The black-as-night body armour he wore with that chunky equipment belt must have weighed as ton, yet he walked with casually grace, and his thick army style boots deadened his heavy tread till his steps were only as loud as mild footfalls even to the Doctor's sensitive ears. The form hugging suit was almost featureless except for wherever muscles bulged with striking proportions and upon the chest which was adorned with the outline of an impressionist's image of a winged creature. From what little the Doctor could see of the man's face, he could tell there was a perfectly set, rock hard jaw and impossibly dark blue eyes that carried an intensity to rival his own. The rest of the face was concealed by a cowl that reached over his head and down to the back of his neck where an equally black cape flowed all the way down to his boots and sagged a little on the ground. The cape didn't billow out like it might in a Dracula film, but that somehow gave off its own sense of sinister intent as the concealing material stayed close to the man's body, implying both mystery and deception.

But there was no mystery as to this person's identity. It was Batman.

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Bruce Wayne stopped suddenly as an unknown figure stepped boldly out in front of him. His brain registered surprise, but his Batman persona refused to let his facial expression change.

The man was unusual in just about every possible way. He was taller than average (though not as tall as him), and wore a dark blue suit with a tie, the smartness of which was put off by a pair of white sneakers on his feet and messy, mud brown spikes on his head. His face was young to middle age, and yet there was a depth in his eyes that spoke of a wisdom of ages, coupled with a little spark of mischievous enthusiasm. He was clearly no doctor, or nurse, or guard or police officer. Too formal for an inmate, too casual for a cop. Too calm for a super villain, too obvious for a thief. Nothing to suggest an Arkham admin worker and somehow just didn't look like a civilian. It was as though an impossibility had occurred. The man seemed to transmit his own aura of absurdity for his own existence. The Batman prided himself on being able to read people with a great level of accuracy, but this individual defied all logical and instinctual deliberation. Batman immediately didn't like him, and neither did Bruce Wayne.

"Who are you?" the Dark Knight shot at the intruder, politeness severely lacking.

"Batman!" the walking conundrum proclaimed energetically, successfully giving away their position to every potential enemy within thirty yards and failing to catch the Batman's hostility. "Wonderful to meet yo-"

The Gotham vigilante slammed the stranger into the wall, seizing his lapels in a death grip and threatening to lift the man from the ground. There was a gasp from the recently freed doctors that were following in the Batman's wake. Like a computer, the man's brain registered the noise, spent less than half a second checking it for detail, and discarded it as irrelevant.

"I said 'who are you'. Name?"

The unusual man carefully reached towards his inside pocket. Batman tightened his grip marginally but wasn't truly concerned as he'd already checked the guy for weapons. Muttering something about starting to look like Harriett Jones, still wearing an openly pleasant look on his face, the unknown element pulled out a card wallet and presented it.

"See, I'm on your side."

Batman scowled even harder and whispered "That's a blank bit of card. No more games. _Who are you_!"

The stranger grimaced and tucked the card away.

"Should have known that wouldn't have worked. Alright, I don't have any card or anything but I'm not an enemy. I'm a private investigator. The name's John Smith"

A private eye. Well, that had a ring of truth about it, but it still didn't seem right.

"What are you doing here?"

"The police; they hired me to get onto this case and help rescue hostages."

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you Smith? The Joker made it clear that if anyone left or entered Arkham he'd start blowing up the city. The police wouldn't have let you through."

The oddity looked a little nervous and said "I was already on the island, working on a case. Detective Bullock hired me to help get people to safety."

"Private eyes don't take cases like this, not even on T.V, and Bullock hates outsiders taking on police work."

"Ah," the skinny man appeared even more worried but still continued trying to bluster his way out of it "well the truth is I'm not like other P.I's in the business. I'm looking to really try and help clean up the city, just like you. I've even got my own name- the Doctor!"

So, a wannabe. That certainly came off as the most likely explanation. Batman still just couldn't get the measure of the guy, but for now he was satisfied that he wasn't a threat, though it was tempting to knock him cold rather than risk letting him get in the way. He couldn't afford to waste any more time with this 'Doctor'.

"This is no place for a private eye to be running around." the Dark Knight released John Smith, who sagged slightly and checked his throat carefully. "Go with these doctor's back to the sanitarium and wait."

As the Batman swept onward down the hall, he registered two pairs of footsteps heading back to the medical facility hub, but one lighter and quicker set of steps approaching his back.

"Actually, I think I'll go with you for now." came the Doctor's nauseatingly chirpy voice.

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The Time Lord was in no way put off by the gruff "No," that issued from the hulking crime fighter; at least not visibly. In his head, the Doctor was wondering if he should put his glasses on in the hope that Batman would be less inclined to hit him.

Ironically, he and the Batman should be getting on like a house on fire. They were both extraordinary people who lived lives full of hardships (some self-inflicted) and tackled the forces of evil on a daily basis but did all within their power to show as much restraint as possible, trying to allow their reputations to do the job and avoid killing adamantly. As it was, they were at each other's throats, or at least Batman was, literally.

"Look, you don't understand. That inmate called Harley Quinn has taken hostages into the lower levels, and one of them is a nurse from the paediatrics ward-"

"Why did Harley take her?" Batman interrupted with his smoothly firm voice.

"Well, I think Harley took exception to the nurse's bad attitude." the Doctor replied sheepishly, as though he was supposed to be covering for Donna.

'_No, Danielle_.'

"I'll find the hostages. Now you go back; you'll only get in my way.

A little affronted by the Dark Knight's attitude, the Doctor said "It's not as simple as that. She called through on the radio for help, and I heard her get attacked. I've got to help her, but the person with the base codes to open the lift is somewhere in these hallways."

"If you think you've got some reason to be guilty over what happened to that nurse, that's your problem. I'm not going to let you put lives at risk by following me around, _Doctor_."

The Doctor stopped and allowed his eyes to bore holes in the back of the retreating vigilante. He'd only known the man for about a minute and he was proving to be one of the most insultingly obstinate humans he'd ever met, and that was saying something; he was even worse than-

With a shock, the Doctor realised he was interacting with this Gotham guardian as though he where one of his companions, albeit one more forward and demanding and unbelievable rude that anyone who'd previously travelled with him. He supposed he should feel guilty for so easily casting Batman in such a light, but he didn't. Like all his other companions, healthy argument with the Bat kept his mind off all his painful thoughts and spurred him from his miserable melancholy and into action. He'd forgotten how much having a companion built him up.

But he couldn't allow it. He promised himself 'never again'. Friends just hurt; companions only bought pain; that was the truth of it. Hanging around with Batman was just a coincidence as they were both heading in the same direction, where the two gun toting thugs had appeared.

'_Wait a tic… gun toting thugs_?'

Batman had seen them too- at the end of the hall two escaped prisoners had come running round the corner from the right, one armed with a sawn off shotgun, the other with an automatic rifle.

The shotgun bellowed in rage, and lead pellet spittle sprayed down the corridor towards its intended targets.

The Doctor didn't even have time to react before a Kevlar coated gauntlet snatched his throat and he found himself sailing back towards the T-junction he'd just come out of.

In the desperate race, Batman proved to be faster, but only just. Lunging round the corner, shoving the Doctor ahead of him, the Dark Knight's cloak whipped up in a flurry of torn fabric as a fraction of the scattered blast caught the side of it. The Batman didn't let it bother him, and in one fluid movement he dumped the stunned Time Lord down and swung back to face his enemies as though he'd rehearsed what was going to happen. With the same perfect momentum, Batman sent one of his trademark bat-shaped boomerangs ricocheting down the passage the moment he had his targets in sight again. It was then that he disappeared round the corner.

The Doctor sprang to his feet and darted after the man, knowing that he may not cover the distance in time. As he took in the scene, the Doctor saw that projectile had winged the man with the machine gun, allowing Batman the chance to sprint forward and make the combat up close and personal. But the lawbreaker was recovering fast, already turning his gun back into play. Without a thought for subtly, the Doctor took aim with and activated his sonic screwdriver. A split second before the criminal fired, the magazine fell out. The scumbag was granted enough time to look bewildered by the impossibly bad luck under such pressing circumstances, before the entire world fell on his head in the form of Batman's foot. The second of the goons, unable to load his shotgun in time, swung the broken open weapon like a cudgel, lashing out dangerously at the vigilante. Batman moved swiftly away from him, easily drawing his attacker into standing over his knocked out partner and disrupting his balance. That done, Batman kicked himself off the wall at his back, allowing his other foot to come into contact with the villain's face. The man span away, unconscious, gun clattering to the floor. By the time the Bat was back on his feet and finished surveying the area, the Doctor was at his side.

"Wow, that was amazing!" said the Doctor. Despite hating base violence, not even the Time Lord could fail to be impressed with the skill and precision just demonstrated. The moment the words were out of his mouth, the Doctor was once again slammed against the wall.

"What is this?" Batman accused as he plucked the sonic screwdriver away before the Doctor could even think of shielding it.

"It's nothing; just give it back." the Doctor tried feebly.

"The magazine in that man's gun fell out the moment you used it. What's it for?"

"How did you even see me using it while your back was-"

"Answer!" the Dark Knight's voice hardened and increased in volume by only a minuscule amount, yet for the Time Lord it carried the weight of a star-kraken. The Batman was clearly not someone to be trifled with, not even for the Doctor. To think just a moment ago he'd compared this masked warrior to his previous companions. If the recent display of violence was anything to go by, Batman was dangerous and not the sort the Time Lord would want hanging around the TARDIS. On top of that, Bats was coming off as more arrogant that the Doctor at his worst- no small accomplishment. It looked like things were going to get very difficult unless the Doctor could convince Batman to trust him; not an easy task. He had a horrid feeling in his gut that the vigilante who gripped him was going to become an enemy rather than an ally, and from the look on that masked face, his was also going to get a horrid feeling in his gut from being struck in it multiple times.

The Doctor decided that maybe sweet talking might be the best option. "It's a sort of sonic wave emitter. I made a deal with the company that made it to test it. I mean I had to, for crime fighting. You're the best crime fighter in the city, with you cape and mask and all those… bat like things. How could I keep up with the likes of you without something to outsmart these thugs with? See, I'm following in your footsteps perfectly; no weapons, just a harmless device to get the better of my enemies. Perfectly safe and non-violent."

Batman looked anything but flattered. When it was between him and a companion it was always so easy for them to praise each other. Their relationship got so close that the Doctor and his friend would sometimes be hanging off each other's every word, and just a few words or a single facial expression could convey so much. Batman's face gave away nothing, and looked as though he wouldn't show any definite response to anything the Doctor said. No doubt he didn't even believe the Doctor, but the Time Lord was so used to people being more concerned with the chaotic circumstances that they found themselves in he'd never had to come up with a convincing cover story for the sonic screwdriver. Right now things were looking pretty unwholesome.

The Doctor was saved by the bell; or more accurately a pair of cries for help.

Batman cocked his head slightly at the sound before looking straight back at the Doctor again.

"This isn't over." he said, before dashing to the rescue, the screwdriver disappearing within the folds of his cloak. Without looking down the Batman locked the device in a case on his belt, which clearly used a DNA recognition seal so that only he could gain access to it.

"Not again." the Doctor complained, before racing after him.

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The caped crusader burst into patient observation, only to face the sight of two people hammering on the glass of the control room, yelling for assistance. One of them was a miscellaneous doctor, whose baldness and wrinkles suggested that he should be retired by now. The second was none other than Aaron Cash, one of the senior guards in Arkham. The black security officer, with his heavy build and strong features, was clearly a tough and determined man, so even for the Batman it was quite disturbing to see him reduced to panic and desperation.

"What's wrong Cash!" Batman called out urgently as he approached.

"Batman! Thank God you're here." Cash exclaimed. "There's Joker gas in the main room. Those two punks who just left set it off and left one of their pals in there with it!"

The Doctor arrived at the scene, but neither of them paid him any mind.

"You gotta do something Bats; it's seeping through the door. I can hold my breath all night, but the old man ain't gonna last long like this." Cash put on a brave face, but his fear was betrayed by the dishevelment of his usually military pristine blue shirt and trousers and the sweat congealing in his close cut beard and hair. His mud brown eyes pleaded for Batman to help, but the gut-green gas was already clawing its way through the door and had become dense enough to see. He had to get into the room and activate the extractor fans in there to drain away the emerald mist, but at the rate that gas was coming through he'd be far too late.

"Can you access the fans from in there?" he asked in a steady tone.

"Already tried." Cash shook his head. "The remote access has been disabled. And the main doors have gone onto emergency seal so we can't even make a run for it" he gestured through the glass to the double doors to Batman's right, which had indeed gone into lockdown mode to prevent the spread of the gas.

Of all people, why Cash? His reputation no doubt- Aaron Cash was by far and away the best security guard in Arkham. Unlike the others, being around the inmates had not driven him mad or corrupt, and his efforts in holding the asylum security force together in the defiance of the nightmare insanity they faced was indispensible, and he'd successfully thwarted many attempted escapes on the part of the super-criminals in his care, even the Joker once (though admittedly that was a fluke). The twin clawed hook he sported in place of his left arm which was bitten off by Killer Croc was a testament to his experience in Arkham. And he trusted Batman, having helped the Dark Knight on a few occasions in the past. Like Commissioner Gordon, Cash was one of the few people alive who came close to being considered a 'friend' to the vigilante. He couldn't let Cash die, but he didn't think he could save him either.

"Batman, look!" the Doctor pointed sharply at something as he grabbed the Dark Knight's arm, much to his immense irritation. "See the door where the gas is coming from."

"I can see it, now be quite and stay back." Batman pulled out his grappling hook and took aim at the air vent that ran along the roof into the poisoned room. He didn't have time to play superhero make believe games with 'The Doctor'.

"No, look." John Smith pointed more urgently at the door. "That's a fire door; when it heats up it swells to block smoke and fire. If we can find a way to raise the temperature of the room or at any rate the door, it'll buy us a bit of time."

Batman froze. Only his years of experience kept his blunt expression in place while his mind reeled in surprise.

Private eye John Smith, A.K.A 'The Doctor', had come up with an idea. Not only that, but it was a damn good idea. Maybe there was something to him after all.

"That could work- nice one, doc. Wait here while I deal with it."

Batman felt his body lurch as the titanium cable pulled him up onto the aluminium tunnel. He wasted no time in bending a grille free of the metal, allowing him entrance to the twisting vent system.

"Don't call me doc!" John Smith complained from where he stood in front of the control room window. "It's Doctor. I _hate_ being called doc."

Had Bruce Wayne been there, he made have spared the Doctor a withering glance, maybe even a sarcastic comment. Batman hadn't even stopped to concentrate on what had been said.

Emerging from the vent onto a small ledge of metal grating, presumably for maintenance staff, the Batman took in the sight before him. The room was mercifully free of patients, who would have surely choked to death by now in the heavy fumes that hung low and thick. Where Batman stood at the top of the room, the air was breathable, which was fortunate for the Blackgate inmate hanging from a broken cable on the other side of the room at the same height.

Batman knew he'd have to save the miscreant as well; he didn't become the man he was today by picking and choosing who to save. Batman didn't kill, and Batman never skirted his responsibility.

Still, there was nothing wrong with prioritising. Ignoring the goon for now, Batman leaned over the edge of the walkway he was on so that he could clearly see the door to the control room where Cash and the doctor were trapped. Batman plucked a wire mesh can from his belt- a chemical activated heat emitter he'd created after one too many run ins with Mr Freeze. The can let out a short lived but remarkably potent blast of pure heat energy, which combined with sticky gel secreted from pellets attached to the side of the weapon, meant that it could stick to virtually anything and cook it in an instant. It certainly caused Freeze plenty of grief, and was perfect for the current situation. Slamming the can into his palm to begin the chemical process, Batman lobbed the object towards the door. It was a difficult angle to throw it from, and naturally his aim was spot on. The can stuck to the door just as the high temperature escaped from the mesh body of the thing, lasting for about ten seconds. By the time the gel had liquefied enough for the weapon to fall free, the door was showing signs of heat damage, bulging ever so slightly form absorbing the blast. That would buy a little time to get the Joker gas removed from the observation centre.

The first extractor fan was easy enough to start up with a batarang lodged firmly in the emergency activation panel. The second was in an alcove on the other side of the room, Batman's cowl scanner tracing the electrical current through the cables in the wall to find it. With the grappling hook Batman swung across the room, lobbing another batarang on the move. The fan soon began spinning.

The final fan was inside the walled off supply in front of the main doors, just underneath the dangling hoodlum. There was a conveniently large skylight on top of it. If he could just get it smashed open, the Dark Knight would have a clear shot at the start up panel.

By now the gas had been drained away enough that the dangerous fog hung even lower in the room, though not enough for the vigilante to try landing on top of the supply room itself. Another maintenance was clear of fumes and positioned just behind the office. The Batman quickly swung to it. As he touched down, the escaped prisoner turned his head and for the first time realised he wasn't alone in the room. Seeing who he had for company didn't raise his spirits.

"Batman!" the word burst from his lips like a dam collapsing and unleashing a torrent of panic. "Jeez, get away from me you freak! Don't you damn well touch me!" he began to scramble up the cable he hung from with monkey agility he hadn't demonstrated till he'd come face to face with the Bat.

The caped crusader ignored the man and concentrated on the situation before him as though it were a logic puzzle. The glass of the skylight was thick- too thick to be broken by anything he was carrying, except for a controlled explosive. He had nothing available that he could stick some explosive gel to, and his cumbersome and rarely used timed-mine launcher was still in its container back in the Batcave of Wayne Manor. He deployed the batclaw- basically a tow rope with a grasping claw attached that could be fired from the grappling gun. Batman looked around for something heavy he could pull down onto the glass to smash it. He briefly toyed with the idea of dropping the panicked thug onto the glass, but that wasn't really an acceptable option. If the glass didn't break under his weight, the man would be stuck there, dying in the cloud of deadly gas. Batman knew from bitter experience that avoiding the Joker's trademark nerve gas wasn't just a matter of holding ones breath; the substance could be absorbed through the skin. There was no way of telling if the particular batch in the observation room was like that, since the Joker seem to chop and change in the specifications of the gas, supposedly for some sort of humorous effect. It was too risky to drop the felon onto the skylight. The Batman had some vials of Joker venom antidote, but they were few in number, and there was always a risk that the gas formula had change enough that the drug wouldn't be effective- best to try and avoid needing them.

Batman spotted some extremity sticking out of the roof; a metal cube for some unclear purpose. That could carry the weight needed to shatter the glass of the supply room. He fired the batclaw at it. The pincers bit into the metal without difficulty, chewing on a corner of the block and around the bars that held the shape of the device that were too strong to be so easily broken. That would do the job. The Dark Knight gripped the tow rope and applied his weight to it. The roof whined as the metal box began to painfully tear loose, screws popping from their threads, washers and bolts raining down with bell-like tingles.

The situation seemed under control, but as always the maverick of fate threw some unpredictable variable into the mix, just to see what would happen.

The escaped inmate fell.

There wasn't enough time for even the caped crusader to think up a more intelligent plan. There was only a chance for instant, unthinking action; Batman lunged forward and caught the falling thug by the arm, the suddenness of his rescue halting his yell with a retch. The vigilante's other hand was twisted tight round the cable of the batclaw, keeping both the men suspended over the store room. It was only then that Batman realised that the tow cable wasn't designed to retract and pull them to safety, and he didn't have a hand free to get the grappling hook.

So there they were, the crime fighter and the criminal, hanging precarious over the gas flooded observation room. The surface Batman had come from was pretty small and only really had enough room for one person to stand on. Still, the Batman would have tried to get back to it anyway, except the goon he held would no doubt try to kill him, and swinging towards the ledge might pull down the silver-grey machine in the roof that was still giving way under the weight of the two men. If it did fall it would probably crush the two people beneath before it had any contact with the glass panel below. There was no clear solution available, and with Cash and the old doctor about to be asphyxiated by Joker gas there was no time to lose. Batman had been in some tight corners before, but this-

"**Oh, looky here! Old Bat-brain has gone and got himself in a little spot of bother."**

Batman snarled as the Joker's mocking voice blurted over the public address system.

"**So viewers, out hero dangles perilously over a room filled with my patented Smilex, a concoction guaranteed to have you dying of laughter. With so many lives to save and so little time, what will our intrepid flying rodent do? Of course, we all know the sensible thing to do. On the one hand we have the heroic security guard Cash and an innocent doctor trapped, mere moments away from death. On the other we have my former henchman, Razor- guilty of petty theft, assault, murder, a rape here and there and of being a slow poke and not getting out of there in time. It's all pretty clear to us all; you know what to do Bats…"**

The Dark Knight could just imagine the huge smile on the madman's face as he spoke again in a darker voice.

"**Drop him. You know it's the only sensible thing to do. I don't mind. What would I want with a dull razor anyway? Snooze ya loose and all that; drop him! We won't blame you. Let that piece of scum fall to the agonising death he deserves and save yourself and all the good guys, knowing that you did everything you could."**

The Joker laughed openly while Razor pleaded shamelessly. Batman shut it all out. In his head, two other voices spoke. One, the Batman, thought in defiance of the purple-suited villain, determined to show him he was wrong. The vigilante's thoughts examined the situation rapidly, considering all possibilities of getting out of the mess he was in. The other voice in his mind, Bruce Wayne, went for the annoyingly distracting moral high ground, thinking of how important it was to do the right thing, how and why he couldn't let the criminal fall, and wondering with a single rebelliously cowardly thought _'Would it be so bad if I did?'_

Batman shoved the distracting thoughts aside and concentrated on his next course of action. He thought of every item he had that might be able to help him. Nothing seemed suitable, except perhaps-

"Cash!" Batman called out, urgently hoping the security guard would be able to hear him.

"**What's up, Bats?"** the man's came from the same speaker system the Joker had used. Thankfully it must be a two way system, at least between the observation room and control room.

"Ask Smith if his sonic device can shatter double glazing." Batman called out. There was a background mumble from the speaker system as it sounded as if the Doctor had overheard the question and was already answering. The Dark Knight looked for another option in case the answer was in the negative. Nothing stood out.

"**He said it can!" **Cash's voice echoed from the sound system again. **"He says hold down the main switch and put the light against the glass, then to make the blast stronger you gotta,"** he trailed off as the muffled private eye's voice seemed to explain a complex set of instruction. Eventually, Cash came back with **"Tilt the switch to the right."**

Well there wasn't enough time for whatever the Doctor was going on about. Batman quickly got the next phase underway. Muscles straining with gargantuan effort, he hoisted the terrified Razor up until he was almost level with the crime fighter.

"Hold onto this cable, if you want to live." Batman snarled at the villain for whom he was gambling everything to save. The man took the tow rope in his hand without question. That done, the vigilante checked the unit they were hanging from. Nearly half of it was pulled away from the ceiling. He then looked down, and let go.

As he entered the veil of gas, Batman flapped his cloak fiercely both to break his fall and to blow the fetid green smoke marginally away, buying perhaps a seconds grace. Landing on the glass he touched the Doctor's sound wave stick to the skylight and hit the switch, the frantic whining supposedly his salvation. The Joker gas gathered around the caped crusader again, and he spluttered slightly as some of it went up his nose. The Dark Knight kept his mouth clamped shut, holding his breath in what could only be described as agony. After the strenuous effort of hanging from the batclaw and lifting Razor to safety his muscles were pleading- begging for oxygen. Bruce Wayne's heart hammered in his chest till it ached, demanding air to satisfy the needs of the body. Still he held his breath, doubling up in his struggle.

The glass beneath him was cracking, but not breaking. An involuntary intake of breath through the nose left the Batman choking, nearly upsetting the balance of his sealed respiratory system. Somehow he held it together. The gas wasn't absorbed through the skin at least, but it would only be a few seconds before that didn't matter. Batman tilted his thumb to the right, the switch moving with it. The whine of the sonic waves grew more intense. Spider web cracks reached out from the point of contact with increasing numbers; earthquake fissures tearing apart the glass prairie stretched out before the Dark Knight as he waited for the destruction to become absolute.

The skylight finally broke. Batman fell into the office. He hit the floor moving, diving for the last control panel and punching as hard as he could into the emergency button. The glass over the switch broke instantly this time, and the wonderful rushing sound of a spinning extractor fan proclaimed victory.

"**Ooo, very clever!"** the Joker's voice, thick with mocking admiration, again spoke from everywhere at once. **"The latest inmate at Arkham once again triumphs! I'll give you one outta ten points. One deducted because you didn't get rid of that worm Razor. The rest because you're an idiot!"**

The Clown Prince of Crime finished his verbal display with howling laughter and applause, before the transmission was shut off. Batman again ignored it, gulping down precious air, gasping and gagging. He heard doors open as Cash and the doctor escaped the control room, while John Smith entered as the gas enforced lockdown was lifted.

Before leaving the storage space, he turned to look upwards. Razor was still struggling and yelping at the end of the cable he hung from. With a flick of the wrist, a batarang went flying into the air and knocked the batclaw free. The miscreant fell screaming back to the floor, where upon contact he was instantly knocked cold.

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Commissioner Gordon sat in a chair in an office, hands tied behind his back. It was all that was needed to keep him there. The same would have sufficed for Danielle Noble, but Harley decided something more unpleasant was needed. On the left side of the room just by the door, one of Quinn's minions was finishing up clamping the nurse in place on a restraining bed for operating on maniacs. The head cage had been altered (A.K.A vandalised) so that any pleas for mercy or screams of pain that might end up coming from her would be pleasantly clear. Right now, however, all Harley could think of was how to stop the God-awful noise of the girl's voice.

"-maybe if you had more hair on your head that your face it would be different." Danielle snarled at the bearded thug, who in turn snarled back. Most of the scumbags from Blackgate might have seen an opportunity to take advantage of a restrained and fairly attractive nurse, but against the amazingly irritating red head, not even eight years of prison enforced celibacy could bring the convict to look at the woman with anything but absolute disgust.

"And _what_ is that smell? God, couldn't you have had a shower before messing around with the revamped bride of Frankenstein over there?"

"Look, honey," Quinn approached, cradling a carbine sub-machine gun the same way a mother would cradle a new born "You better shut up real soon, cus' Mister J has got some really important stuff that he needs me to help with, and you're starting to give me a headache."

"Oh dear; can't take the heat? Don't worry, we've got something for that called a lobotomy."

Harley whipped free the cane that had once belonged to Warden Sharpe from her belt and lashed downwards. The wood clacked threateningly on the cage that encompassed Danielle's head, making her jump. The cane didn't actually hit her, although it cracked slightly, sending a little shower of splinters onto the nurse's face. Danielle winced, and quickly replaced her concerned look with one of irritation as she wrinkled her nose in a bid to dislodge the tiny wooden slivers, unable to turn her head while locked in the face guard.

"I'm really not getting through to you, am I? Y'know, if I weren't so busy I'd have dealt with you ages ago, but I'm really getting sick of you. Keep this up and I'll send Slider here to get some drugs from the surgery that we can test on you."

Danielle was saved the humiliation of letting Harley see the look of horror flash across her face as Gordon spoke up.

"Don't even think about, Quinn. You won't get away with any of this; someone will stop you."

Harley moved to hassle the chief of police, giving Danielle a moment to recover her shaken nerves and place another mask of anger over her fear.

"So, they call you 'Slider'." her eyes zeroed in on the criminal hovering over her. She noticed he was wearing a leather jacket that belonged to one of her friends in the medical building, no doubt stolen from the man's own locker. Her anger became fiercer and more genuine.

"So what, you ski to work or something!" Danielle hissed sarcastically. In response, the man lifted a pair of jet-black pistols from his pockets. The young woman squirmed at the sight of the ugly items, wondering if she gone too far and was about to meet her maker.

The inmate twirled the guns expertly round his index fingers, and then caught them underneath the barrels. He then used his thumbs to get a firm grip round the top of the guns in order to drag the slides on the back till the bullets snapped into place. He then flipped the pistols and caught them by the butts. His leering grin sent shivers down Danielle's spine.

"That's why they call me Slider, girl." he drawled with a southern accent. "Now you'd better stay put and shut it, or Mister and Misses 9mm here will be sending their kids for a visit right 'tween those pretty eyes of yours."

Danielle half expected fangs to shoot out of his mouth with the way his was smiling at her. Still, the nurse refused to let him see any weakness, her mouth a perfectly cut frown, her eyes fire pits of hatred.

Inside, she thought _'How the hell did I end up in this mess! And what are they going to do to me? Damn, why did I take this job; I knew it'd turn out like this. It's not my job to take on these maniacs.'_

As Slider left the room on some errand, the English woman's eyes moved back to Harley Quinn, who'd returned the cane to where it was jammed into her belt and pulled out a wicked looking knife, which she recognised from her granddad's world war collection as a kukri. She watched with bated breath as the mad former psychiatrist moved the curved hand axe towards the commissioner's face, wondering if one of them would end up on the receiving end of it.

'_There's really no way out of this.'_ Danielle shivered at her own thoughts. _'I can't get away, and it's that old copper they want; I'm just an extra. How am I supposed to get out of this in one piece? I mean who, in the entire universe, is going to be looking to save me?'_

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_**I know Bats is supposed to be wearing his traditional grey skin tight suit, but I way prefer the all-black style from Dark Knight. And hey, this is an alternative dimension- stranger things have happened.**_

_**And sorry for the long time to update, but I'm afraid the update times aren't likely to improve any time soon. Still, I'll do my best. Keep reading!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Percy 'Perks' Dubois had never seen himself as a violent man. He had started his criminal career as a con-man and fraudster at the age of seventeen. Thanks to some encounters with the mob he'd eventually set himself up as a small time money launderer and confidence trickster. It was only when Harvey Dent's clean up Gotham plan came into effect that Perks discovered the truth about himself. As the police went all out to shut down the city's money launders and stave the gangs of cash, Percy's office became the site of a raid by four cops. He'd always thought that he'd come over faint if someone ever pointed a gun at him. Barely five minutes after the raid took place, Perks had found himself running through the back alleys with as much money he could stuff in his pockets, blood all over his shirt and a Cheshire Cat grin on his face which he just couldn't get rid of. He had no clear memory of what had transpired in the office, but the papers reported that three of the cops had been shot at close range, while the fourth had been stunned by a blow to the head to relieve him of his gun, before being beaten to death.

For a long time Perks had feared the unknown capacity for violence he carried, pulsing through veins from his ever beating heart, ticking like a countdown to his next outburst. He'd spent days dreading the power that his secret rage held over him, wondering when it would happen, wondering what would happen when it did. At its mercy he'd searched his thoughts blindly for a way to escape, considering everything from committing himself to Arkham to suicide in the cloying waters of Gotham City bay.

Then the Joker had come and things had changed. The Joker had been good to Percy, encouraging him, telling him he had talent. The Clown Prince of Crime had taken the confused young man under his purple suited wing, providing him with a fake I.D to escape persecution for his crimes and arranging for some of his most experienced henchmen to train Perks in the art of combat and rage control. Now Perks was one of the top men in the Joker's underworld army, and looked upon the maniac as a sort of mentor.

He was dedicated, determined to carry out the Joker's instructions as efficiently as possible, regardless of the consequences. The Joker had promised him this time that if he was very good he'd be allowed to be one of the special guests at the party he was throwing later that night. Perks could think of nothing other than finding a way to please the Joker.

However, even Perks was a little put off as he stepped out of the elevator into the sanatorium and found a member of the Joker's horde hanging upside down at head height from a stone gargoyle.

He heard gasps from the other members of his team. Instantly he remembered that it wasn't his job to be afraid. He had to keep the rabble functioning for the Joker, or else the boss' plan would never come to fruition.

"Cut your whining!" he hissed as he brandished his blowtorch at them. "The Bat is somewhere up here and we're gonna find him. Now spread out!"

He moved past the unconscious dangling convict, taking up position where he could look down into the depressed central area of the treatment room. To his left, Esteban Torres went running to secure the area around the exit. To his right, Jesús 'The Saint' Juárez descended the ladder to the lower floor. Perks decided he'd have to keep an eye on that one, seeing as how he wasn't one of the Joker's regulars but a hired gun who'd worked for the Mafia and simply happened to be among the imported criminal's ranks. If he even looked like he had any plans to desert the Joker's cause or try to see himself right ahead of the others-

"YARK!" exclaimed a voice to the left in conjunction with the sound of a thud and a scuffle. Even as Perks began running to investigate, there was the sound of flesh suffering a heavy impact, followed by silence.

When Perks got there, he found Esteban lying unconscious, the barrel of his gun bent so that it was useless.

"Oh Jeez!" Perks whispered, fear dripping down his back. "He's in here with us!"

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"**Don't worry boys. I'm sure the Bat won't hurt you. Well he may, but smile; you're just seconds away from medical care,"** the Joker giggled from the speakers. If he had surveillance cameras watching, he certainly wasn't using them to help his two remaining lackeys. Still, Batman wasn't about to risk taking that for granted. One of the Joker's regular sparing moves with the Bat was to send a bunch of hopelessly outmatched grunts to kill him, knowing that they'd be pummelled senseless within minutes. But that was the thing- the Joker was anything but regular, or predictable, or fixed in his ways. The Joker defined instability. He was chaos incarnate, and one could never tell if he might unexpectedly back up his gang with intel, not necessarily to help them kill the Dark Knight, but just to catch everybody off guard and see what would happen. Therefore, the Batman remained alert and watchful as he squatted upon the old gargoyle that was fixed into the wall across from the elevator.

Quickly assessing the situation, Batman determined which of the two villains the greatest threat was. It was the dark skinned man on the lower floor, whom he recognised as Mafia hit man Jesús Juárez, aka. The Saint. He had paid attention to the thug hanging by the elevator and was searching the roof and high up ledges with his eyes. The one keeping watch from the upper walkway wasn't as dangerous, but the clown face paint showed him to be one of the Joker's personal cohorts, which made him an unpredictable element. Though he didn't seem to have been rigged up as a suicide bomber, there was still no telling what he might try, what with having a blowtorch at his disposal.

Deciding on a course of action, Batman waited till there were no eyes looking in his direction before tossing a batarang at the killer who'd he'd strung up when he first entered the sanatorium. The sharp wings cut the rope neatly and deposited the scum back on the ground with a thud. The face painted man heard the noise and rushed back to investigate. The Saint hadn't heard the noise from where he stood, searching the lower floor laboratories.

Batman dived from his perch, pulling his cloak into place and activating the electrical charge for it. The material snapped into shape as the energy solidified the fibres, becoming a small glider in the shape of a bat wing. The Bat ghosted down, a silent and unseen ghoul, preying on the mundane souls below.

As Batman came within striking distance, the intended target somehow sensed the nearing presence and spun round. His thoughts were displayed plainly on his face as he took in the sight of the solid barrier of blackness that descended upon him. He dived and fired at the same time.

Batman grunted slightly as a lucky shot beat into his stomach, body armour catching the bullet but not masking the blow. The Bat didn't falter, and one of his feet clipped the gangster's shoulder, sending his body pirouetting like a ballerina and his gun jumping free of his hands. Batman landed as the inmate came to a halt.

The Saint was quickly on his feet again, searching for his gun. Not giving him a chance, Batman sprang forward with a fist raised to strike. The Saint saw it coming as jerked his body aside at the last moment, and Batman was forced to be satisfied with a relatively weak punch to the man's chest as he corrected his aim as fast as possible.

The hit man stumbled back under the blow, too winded to answer the call from his friend on the floor above, investigating the sound of gunfire. The caped crusader poised himself to leap at the goon, who saw what was about to happen and quickly seized a bulky machine off of a workbench and tossed it in the vigilante's direction with all his might. Batman launched himself clear of the object, rolling to his feet as soon as he hit the ground. As he regained his footing, his finely tuned senses picked up on a threat, and he darted back into the cover of the lab area under the overhanging walkway just before a bullet from a magnum rocketed past and decimated a floor tile where the masked warrior had been standing. The escaped prisoner upstairs seemed reluctant to come down and join the fight for now, but that wouldn't last if the battle didn't ended quickly.

Batman rushed forward, closing the distance between himself and the opponent. The Saint pulled a switchblade from his pocket, flicking the cruel steel from the handle and going for a low strike in a swift and well experienced move. It was also a stale move, and the Bat caught the arm with barely any effort, side stepping to the grunt's right, away from his free left hand. The criminal gave a weak and badly timed kick to the Batman's leg which the vigilante barely even felt and didn't acknowledge. Instead, he pulled the killer's arm down and smashed it over his knee, dislodging the knife. The Saint howled in pain and backed away as the Bat let go of his arm. Batman followed up with a trio of strikes; two punches either side of the head, followed by a kick to the chest. The Saint hit the floor like a ton of bricks.

Batman was already moving when the thug started falling. When he was only just out from under the laboratory, the Bat was able to predict from the shadows and sounds above where the second target was. With an attack plan already in mind, the caped crusader leaped at a nearby wall, kicked off it, and reached the edge of the second floor. He pulled himself up sharply, just as the escaped prisoner realised what was happening and turned to face the threat.

The colt anaconda let rip with a second shot, then a third. The second was flying far too wide of the mark. The third was dodged as Batman dived for the inmate. They both went tumbling to the floor, the gun knocked away by a hand encased in a black glove. Batman was almost immediately forced to pull away again as the blowtorch came into play. With a single bound he was several feet beyond the thug's reach as he struggled up with the bulky gas can hanging from back like a rucksack. The brute glared at Batman, paint unable to hide the hate and instability in the man's eyes.

The Blackgate prisoner charged, blue flame roaring with anticipation as the fuel spurted from the blowtorch in desperation to join the fight, only to burn up in the intense heat and add its strength to the fire.

Batman made another bound, putting himself in front of the still open elevator doors. The henchman skidded to a halt and changed direction. Before he could attack again, Batman shot the batclaw into the criminal's leg. The teeth pinched around his ankle and the Bat pulled, sending the inmate sprawling to the floor. As he attempted to recover, Batman stamped down and destroyed the blowtorch.

The grounded thug looked at the ruined tool in his hand, then up at the dark figure looming over him. There was a glint in his eyes, like the one in the Joker's just before he staged this chaos.

Then the guy went mad.

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Perks couldn't contain himself. He just took one look at the Bat, standing over him with his stupid costume and mask, everything he imagine the self-assured defender of Gotham to be, and then black turned to red and nothing could stop him.

The former money launderer was up in an instant, heavy fuel tank seemingly weightless under the influence of his rage. He threw punches like crazy at the thickly built crime fighter, blows faster and stronger than anything he was normally capable of. Batman was nimbly darting around the attacks, but there were near misses. Perks laughed with the thrill of combat, but couldn't hear his own voice over the pounding of excited blood in his ears.

Batman ducked, and the thug kicked out and caught the right shoulder. Batman backed away, no doubt having second thoughts at seeing the strength and skill bestowed upon those loyal to the Joker. Perks dashed at him, arms open to give a crushing bear hug. The Dark Knight moved aside and kicked the man's feet out from under him, adding a punch between his shoulder blades for good measure. The inmate ended up collapsing to the floor and hit his head on the wall that surrounded the entrance to the elevator. He got back up, not feeling the blow. Through the crimson haze he still had the presence of mind to remember the things the Joker's henchmen taught him about using the surroundings and improvising. Percy Dubois spied a nearby fire extinguisher and made a grab for it.

The Bat was on him in an instant, but once again the criminal remembered his training out of shear instinct and wrapped his arms round his head just before a karate chop from Batman could knock him cold. Again, Perks didn't feel the pain as the cut impacted on his arm, too consumed by his madly violent perception of reality to care about something like physical injury. The goon shifted his weight and grasped blindly at the body that clung to him like the parasitic rodent he was. When he at last had a grip he tossed the Batman bodily into the walled and roofed office nearby, not caring that the vigilante simply rolled as he hit the floor and came back to his feet with ease. In his mind, he had given Batman a taste of what he was going to get for crossing the Joker one time too many, and this was only the beginning.

Perks snatched the fire extinguisher and hefted it in his arms. Batman raised his fists in preparation for battle, knowing the thug would make his move first. Perks rushed the Dark Knight, the canister wheezing a cloud of gas into the fray to cover the henchman's movements. He swung the metal tube about with wild abandon, but failed to land any blows. He detected several impacts against his own body and tried to follow the trail to lead him to the dark warrior, but the red haze in his mind prevented him from thinking clearly just as it hid any pain he was in.

Eventually the criminal was forced to stop spewing the extinguishant everywhere because it clearly only affected his ability to fight. He looked about as the fog cleared and saw Batman backing away, out of the office in the direction of the elevator. Perks raised the metal container above his head and charged.

As he approached, Batman pulled out one of his gunmetal black projectiles. The batarang unfolded and the Bat threw it like a discus. It caught the side of the henchman's right arm. His arm collapsed in surprise and the fire extinguisher banged him on top of his skull. The inmate wasn't particularly hurt but was taken aback and came nearly to a complete stand still. Batman used the opportunity to step forward and hit the unstable escapee squarely in the face. Perks immediately snapped out of psychotic rampage as he fell to the floor, suddenly exhausted and stunned. As he lay in his confused state the thug couldn't really take in what was going on around him. He could see the Bat in front of him, moving to apprehend the man. He thought he heard a sudden sharp noise, but couldn't be sure. He didn't feel the bullets hit the fuel tank on his back, but he did feel the flames for a split second.

Then Percy Dubois was no more. His final thought was that he deserved to die for failing the Joker.

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Batman slammed clumsily into the railing on the edge of the walkway. He felt a little dazed, not from the hitting rail thanks to the padded cowl over his head, but from the blast of the exploding blowtorch fuel tank.

With his natural resilience bringing him back to his senses, Batman cleared his head and looked up. The escaped prisoner responsible for the explosion was stepping gingerly over the remains of his handiwork with an automatic weapon in his hands.

The man had been hiding in the lift the whole time, waiting for the right time to attack. Bruce Wayne was trying to work out how he could have fallen for a cheap trick like that. Batman, however, was thinking only of how best to get out of the situation. The moment he moved the guy would fire. The body armour still had a hope of blocking the bullets at that range, but it would be close. Too close in fact.

"Ha! So much for the caped crusader," the villain laughed. "I'm gonna flatten you into the ground, and after that I'm gonna screw this city over big time."

Batman knew he had to move, but was reluctant in case another chance came along since the Blackgate inmate obviously wasn't going to be satisfied with merely shooting the Dark Knight. All he needed was a brief diversion so he could get to his feet.

As if on cue, the fire alarm went off. Batman was back up before the goon had even started to twitch away in response to hammering alarm bell.

The grunt's reaction was fast, turning back and letting rip with the machine gun. As always, the Bat found dodging the stream of bullets no chore, and soon the over confident gunner was out cold.

No sooner had he let the tattooed man fall to the floor than the alarm switched off and there was the sound of someone climbing the ladder up to the walkway. Batman moved to confront them, since presumably they were the one who'd entered the room against his instructions and had activated the alarm to distract the gunman.

He hoped it was Cash, but somehow he knew who it really was.

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"Not bad, eh?" the Doctor jested as he came up the ladder, not surprised to see that the trick with the fire alarm wasn't appreciated.

"I told you to stay back in the hall while I dealt with these punks. You could have gotten yourself killed."

The Doctor didn't even bother to respond, uninterested in the Batman's pride. In his experience pride had little value. It was something you worked your heart out to get and to keep, and it could be taken away in an instant. That's why he liked to keep a low profile and only made light of any accomplishment of his light heartedly- in his mind a star that didn't rise couldn't fall.

The door to the hallway squealed open loudly and the Dark Knight leant over the rail as the survivors of the riot started to come in.

"It's still not safe out there. Go to patient observation and barricade yourselves in."

Even the Doctor could see the tactical sense in that- the small crowd would be easy pickings for the hordes that were roaming around the island. Patient observation was the most out of the way part of the building with plenty of loose furniture to stack into a makeshift wall, plus if they could get the security working properly they could lockdown the area and seal themselves off completely. That the Batman had clearly already calculated this long before was impressive, but the Doctor decided not to let on to him.

In spite of the instructions from the fearsome super hero, one of the doctors also climbed up the ladder to the upper floor. The Doctor noted with slight interest that it was the same grim faced psychologist who'd appeared on the televisions in the hallways, Doctor Young.

"Where are you going?" challenged Batman.

"I left my research notes in the mansion," the woman explained curtly. "I've got to get them back; if Joker gets hold of them, who knows what damage he could do."

"It's not safe out there, doctor. You have to stay here."

"I can't just leave it! It's my life's work!" Doctor Young exclaimed. The Time Lord remembered the doctor's recorded message talking about her titan process to strengthen physically weak patients, supposedly a big thing in the world of psychology.

Doctor Young started to continue with her complaint, when the security guard Aaron Cash came up the ladder and said "I'll get her there Batman. Besides, I'm thinking it's time for some payback," he slapped his powerful metal hook into his real hand enthusiastically.

"I don't like it," The Batman growled, his natural frown becoming just a little harder.

"That research sounds like some pretty important stuff. You should let them go," the Doctor got involved, ignoring any irritation from the parties involved. "We need to hurry up and get downstairs- there's still hostages to save."

"Alright Cash. Get Doctor Young to the mansion, find her notes and then find somewhere to hold up," Batman said to the guard, before turning back to the Doctor. "As for you Smith, you are _not_ going with me. If you want to help, restrain all the knocked out inmates you can find and then keep an eye on the doctors in observation."

Batman swept away before the Doctor had a chance to talk back. He entered the lift and turned round, holding his palm out in front of him to halt the Doctor as he tried to follow right after the vigilante.

"Stay-here," The Batman stated clearly.

"Come on, I can help you," The Doctor insisted. "I've done pretty well so far. It'd be far safer if we were working together."

"I work alone," said the Bat, before pushing the button for the bottom floor. The lift doors slid shut.

The Doctor huffed at the irony.

'_Never again I said. So that's why they say be careful what you wish for.'_

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"**Too easy! Just think about it; I've got you trapped in a little metal box hanging precariously over a deadly drop. What's say I just blow the emergency brakes and drop you like a sack of puppies?"**

Batman didn't react; just continued to stare darkly at the ugly face on the monitor as the lips moved in unison with the words from the speakers.

"**Say goodnight Bats. BOOM!"** The Joker screeched, before laughing manically as nothing happened. Batman displayed no reaction. He knew the Joker was bluffing- he wouldn't have ended it just like that.

"**HA HA HA HA HA! Only kidding."**

Then the elevator began moving down towards the lowest level of the medical facility.

"**Got a few more surprises in store for you,"** the Joker sneered. He grinned a sinister grin as he gazed at the Bat with hungry eyes, before hissing in delight **"Batman, prepare to face your fears. All of them- HA HA HA HA HA!"**

The Dark Knight's solid demeanour was shattered as he suddenly coughed and spluttered as a truly foul smell hit him, coming from the ground floor he was about to enter. There was the sting of chemicals, ammonia making him flinch, and the coppery smell of abundant amounts of blood. The air was chill, making the scents sharper and more defined, and the temperature penetrated the vigilante's exterior till Bruce Wayne shivered beneath. He could tell this was no ordinary chance in atmosphere. Like a master craftsman of a particular trade, Batman sensed just by minor details he wasn't consciously aware of that something was seriously wrong. As the elevator touched down he span round, ready to confront whatever the hell was going on down there.

To his frustration, he saw the moment the door opened that there was another unbreakable observation window directly in his line of sight, wires threading through it in a patchwork pattern and holding the window firm against any attack. As if it were a giant television screen, Batman had no choice but to observe the horrors within.

It was an autopsy theatre. There was an old corpse laid out on the table, chest open wide, organs and muscle hanging flaccid and limp. There were other bodies too, some clearly fresh as the cavities in them steamed into the icy air. The dead were torn asunder, ripped limb from limb by some unidentifiable chaos and violated till they were nothing but bloody shadows of their former selves, grim sculptures of perverse art gone mad in an attempt to make something truly outrageous.

In the room were a few Blackgate criminals, a pair of Arkham guards and a doctor. Where there should have been conflict between them, however, instead they were united in panic.

"Please Doctor Crane!" a guard squealed pathetically as he held out his hands in front of him. The others mimicked him, moaning and crying out in fear. Then another voice answered the first in a tone of amused confusion and said "There is no Crane…"

The small whines of fear transformed into howls of terror, and suddenly the room's occupants were in frenzy, thrashing about and screaming, struggling with thin air.

Then the disembodied voice spoke the words that made Batman's stomach turn.

"… _Only Scarecrow!"_

Scarecrow!

Bruce Wayne's crime fighting character was jolted from his cruel reverie as a previously unseen individual jumped up and slammed himself into the glass. The man was not a Blackgate prisoner; he was a patient at Arkham with pieces of his straight jacket torn and flapping loose. Yet even the lunatic was overcome by seemingly irrational fear, beating on the window a screaming.

"GET ME OUT HERE!" he bellowed, not taking in the sight of the Bat in front of him and just yelling for the heck of it. "PLEASE! OH GOD!"

Similar cries soon joined his, first from the doctor who was on his knees and tearing the sleeves off his lab coat.

"I'M NOT ONE OF THEM! I'M SANE!"

Then the others added there screams and tears to the din, creating a circus of sickening pandemonium.

"THEY'RE ALL OVER ME! GET THEM OFF!"

"ARGH- THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!"

"I CAN'T DO THIS!"

"HE'S BACK! MOM, HELP ME!"

They began dropping like flies, drowning in dribble, throats closing up in panic, stomachs contracting, hearts ready to burst from their chests, literally dying of fear.

A cantankerous laugh echoed around the room as the victims of the bodiless voice fell dead, adding to the pile of corpses already there.

Batman broke free of his daze and darted to the entrance to the room. There was no door. Instead there were bars slammed firmly over the way in. Batman seized two of them and fought fiercely, but the barrier wouldn't budge. Not that there was any point- the people in the room were either dead or beyond saving, and the one responsible-

Something flashed by, running out of the operating room and into the hallways to the left.

Batman caught only a glimpse of the figure- brown clothes made of sackcloth, and around the neck; was that a noose?

The identity was clear.

"**Oh, it looks like the good doctor has started early."** the Joker's voice once again issued into the immediate environment. The Dark Knight did his best to ignore him while searching for a way round the obstruction that defied even his strength.

"**Your appointment isn't for hours. I'm sure you'll be buzzed through when he's ready."**

Batman sprayed some explosive gel on a weak point of the wall, where a flaw in the masonry led into a boiler room according to his x-ray scanner.

"**So tell me Batman; what are you really scared of?"**

Not even the explosion seemed to smother the chuckling madman's voice. Chunks of brickwork showered the corridor, and the Bat moved swiftly on, trying not to think.

"**Failing to save this cesspool of a city."**

Trying and failing to block the voice out, the Batman moved through the tight back rooms long since disused and forgotten.

"**Not finding the Commissioner in time?"**

Batman made his way down into where the boiler was installed, nerves stretching as the Joker's voice grew in excitement and apprehension.

"**ME, in a thong! BWAAA HA HA HA"**

Batman paused for a moment, unable to keep his thoughts in check with the Joker's harassment testing his resolve. The voices in his head started their debate in earnest.

Scarecrow. On the face of it, Doctor Crane wasn't exactly a terrifying adversary. He was a thin, gangly man, fairly short and with a face that was stretched so that he looked older than he actually was. Some had described him as weedy, others as nerdy. His most threatening aspect was his creepy voice and preference for a confrontational and manipulative approach to psychology.

But there was another side to Jonathan Crane. A side known as Scarecrow. A side that was obsessed with fear and its consequences. A side that had used his understanding of the sciences to create the dreaded fear toxin that he wielded in his career as a super criminal.

Batman thought back to those who'd just died. He'd seen it before; unfortunate souls poisoned by the Scarecrow's formula. The meaningless fear generated by the stuff reached such high levels that hallucinations appeared to the victims, embodying the things that could invoke so much terror. They'd died living nightmares, their final moment's ones of unimaginable horror.

Batman felt his breath become shallow. He dipped his head and breathed deeply. It was unlike him to react so obviously to a potential confrontation. Usually, remaining unmoved by his emotions and staying as the emotionless, expressionless Batman was easy. Just a little self-control and will power and the image was unbreakable. Of course, he felt scared sometimes, but that fear came from Bruce Wayne; Batman had no fear. So why was he finding it harder to keep the two states of mind separate? Maybe because he'd never faced a disaster like the takeover of Arkham before. Maybe because the Joker was right; because he wouldn't get out of there alive and wouldn't save the city.

Maybe because with Scarecrow on the loose, he really wouldn't be in time to save Commissioner Gordon.

"Help…" croaked a voice that seemed to answer Batman's questions with his recognition of the person calling. At least, he almost recognised it, but he'd never heard the voice so weak and empty. Even at the worst of times that voice always had an underlying strength to it that said it belonged to a man who would keep on fighting even when the whole world was against him. Now the voice was broken and weak, gasping out in a death rattle.

Batman sped forward, coming round a corner to be confronted with an awful sight.

"Please Batman…" the chief of Gotham City police gasped from where he lay behind a grille against the ceiling leading back into the corridors. Gordon's eyes begged for help as his fingers curled into the crisscrossing wires in a futile attempt to save himself before someone dragged him out of sight.

The Dark Knight flew at the opening, urgently trying to help the Commissioner. He was far too late, and only managed to catch another glimpse of the older man's pleading face as he was pulled away by his legs down a side corridor.

Forgetting the calm and clear headed Batman, Bruce Wayne began twisting and pulling at the grille in his path. It took nearly a minute before it occurred to him that even out of his bodysuit, he'd never be able to squeeze through the gap. Cursing his carelessness, Bruce quickly located a ventilation grate and tore it aside with animal savagery. He scuttled through the tunnel, mind awash with primal determination. He travelled upwards until he was on level ground again and burst into the hall, following the thin blood trail from the grille to his right like a hound, travelling fast with hawk like eyes narrowed with concentration and then-

"_No."_

- and then he found Gordon dead.

It was so abrupt. He was just lying with his back propped up against the wall, slit throat leaking down his chest.

"_Gordon's dead."_

In a strange way it seemed more insulting than anything else, that someone would have the audacity to kill Jim Gordon. Gordon was a figurehead of the city, a man people trusted and believed in. He represented the law and order in the same way the Statue of Liberty signified freedom. To so much as challenge the Commissioner was a bold and daring act, dramatic and defiant and not something done lightly.

And yet, someone had killed him with a single casual stroke and dumped his body aside as though the act held no more symbolism than crushing an ant.

Batman approached Gordon and knelt beside him, placing his fingers upon the neck as though searching for a pulse might magically reverse logic and see the man alive again.

Bruce felt unchecked emotion swelling in his stomach and overflowing into his chest, then clawing up into his throat till he thought he would retch. There was pain; pain that was familiar but not felt for a long time. Memories from the distant past resurfaced in a surreal day dream that blocked out reality.

Gordon had been more than an ally. Even more than a friend- Gordon had been the same age as Bruce's father. Back when his parents had been murdered, Gordon was the first one to come and comfort the young Bruce Wayne, sitting with him in the police station and laying his coat over his shoulders, ignoring the urgent requirements of the investigation and postponing the questions in place of offering words of comfort to the newly orphaned boy. Jim didn't have children back then. It wasn't the parental instinct brought about by having children of his own that drove him to try and care for the child, only the earnest desire to do good and be there for those who needed him. Gordon had soon been forced to move aside as more senior officers took over the case of two of Gotham City's finest citizens being murdered, but none of them had ever been as sympathetic or had tried as hard to offer kindness than the one who sat with Bruce less than an hour after the attack saying "Don't worry, you're safe now. And no need to call me 'officer'. You can call me Jim."

When the Batman was safely locked away in the cave and Bruce Wayne was living what little of an ordinary life he had, he often allowed himself the luxury of imagining a day when his inner demons would be put to rest and Gotham City would be safe enough that he could lay down the mantle of the Dark Knight, and one of the first things he imagined himself doing was going to Jim Gordon and giving him a well-deserved explanation. He imagined telling the police officer how grateful he was for the effort he'd made after he lost his parents, how the man's kindness had been one of the factors that steered Bruce away from seeking narrow minded revenge and toward upholding a rigid code of justice, and how it had been such a privilege to work alongside what was undoubtedly the best of the good cops in Gotham.

But none of that would ever come to pass. Gordon was dead. The Batman had failed, and Bruce Wayne lost another one of the important people in his life. For the first time in years, Bruce thought he might cry. The temptation to give up the effort and just allow his feelings to take control was strong, and he had to consciously stifle the tears that threatened to fall.

"Barbara," he whispered into his radio. What was he going to say? How could he tell his friend her father was dead, and it was all his fault? Even if she didn't blame him, how would he ever face her again? How would he ever face anyone again, knowing that everyone in the city was now a little worse off without Jim Gordon watching their backs?

"Barbara; I'm sorry. I was too late."

There was no answer from the radio. No surprise. What could you say to something like that?

Bruce carefully closed Gordon's eyes to try and give him some dignity in place of the pain and fear plastered forever on his face. He pulled back the moment he was done, feeling unworthy of having anything to do with the man he'd let down.

A maniac laugh echoed through the halls suddenly. The costumed hero slowly turned his head to the unexplored passage where the laugh came from. A sign on the wall indicated 'Morgue'.

Now he felt hatred well up inside him. The one responsible was right there; he could see the shadow projected onto the wall harshly. The murderer was just standing in plain sight, laughing and jeering at what he'd done; laughing at Bruce Wayne as he mourned on his knees. The killer was standing right there, and he needed to pay.

Bruce ran to towards the looming shape on the wall and came round the corner ready to brutalise the owner of the shadow. But there was no one there.

He looked at the wall again. The shadow was gone. Another dark laugh came from down the corridor, this time coming from a corner leading to the right. Another shadow appeared on the wall at the opposite end of the hall.

So, the killer was playing tricks with the light. Bruce resolved to put an end to the tricks, permanently.

He travelled across the tiled floor, idly noting a large number of insects crawling over the square patterns. Another sick joke; releasing hundreds, possibly thousands of filthy bugs in the vicinity of the morgue to feast on the dead bodies. He remembered the deceased persons left in the autopsy room and torn to shreds, as well as multiple blood smears covering the corridors around Gordon's body. Something else this animal would have to pay for.

As Batman came to the turning at the end of the hall he thought he heard whispering. He ignored the sinister hissing and checked the surroundings. Whatever had caused the shadow was gone again. There were two doors in front of him, but the one on the left wall was metal and covered in a film of condensed water vapour, and the liquid had clearly not been disturbed by hands levering the sealed portal open. That meant his quarry was without a doubt cowering in the morgue dead ahead.

"_Time to die you bastard!"_ thought Bruce.

He came through the door like an eruption, hoping to use the element of surprise to the fullest, but to no avail; there was no one there.

The room was cold, as befit its purpose. There was no misting breath giving away an exhaling person in hiding. The walls were lined with vaults for holding the dead. All were either locked or wide open, proving that there was no chance of someone hiding inside one. Dead bodies had been pulled from the compartments that had been opened, littering the floor and adding a ripe stench to the place. Bruce Wayne had trained himself too well to be tricked by someone masquerading as a corpse. Even the hissing voice had stopped. There was no sign of anyone.

In the middle of the room were three work benches, each equipped with a sink and bottles of fluids. Someone could hide behind those. It was the only likely explanation.

Wayne approached the raised dais in the middle of the room. The evil muttering began again, discernable and more frantic this time.

"_You shouldn't be here,"_ it moaned. _"Get out of here,"_ the noise echoed around the room.

The vigilante's attention was diverted by the sound of slamming metal doors. The chambers in the walls were becoming restless, the doors slamming shut and opening and beds jerking backwards and forwards on their rails. More tricks to throw his attention off; Bruce scoffed at the attempts, not letting them douse his rage.

As he climbed onto the elevated central section he realised there was no room for anyone to be hiding behind the furniture. He cursed his unknown prey for eluding him. His was now so livid he thought he might be sick. Gordon's murderer had slipped past him and escaped without punishment, leaving behind shadows and voices and objects moving of their own accord as a further jest that belied the magnitude of the situation.

The offended Bruce Wayne swept away from the benches and to the door.

"_I'll find him soon enough. Find him and make him pay."_

The armoured man breathed deeply to try and calm himself. It did no good. All he wanted to do was find and punish the killer. All he wanted was revenge. The thought of it roared in his mind like a rising tidal wave. Anger burned hot in his veins as he flexed the fingers with the urge to wrap them round someone's neck. He'd find them; make them pay; make them _suffer_…

Suddenly the fierce ideas were snuffed out.

An odd feeling made Bruce Wayne stop and turn around.

There was a body bag resting on one of the benches. It hadn't been there before- or maybe it had been. Could he have missed it?

He approached the bag warily, eyes fixed to the black plastic.

"_Is that thing moving?"_ he thought.

He came closer while the bag clearly twitched and rustled ever so slightly. The sensible thing would be to stay back, but Bruce felt as though some unnatural force composed of sickening fascination and apprehension was forcing him to draw close.

The bag positively writhed. Still, Bruce got closer until he was standing over it feeling bewildered. With no other obvious course of action to take, the young man followed the power of hypnotic suggestion and opened the bag, for no other reason than because it was there.

It was like taking the lid off the underworld.

Bruce screamed.

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The Doctor hadn't even started on the task assigned to him before he became bored of it. He got the survivors of the medical centre to tie up the escaped villains, playing on their anger and desire to get their own back to convince them to do the job. While they incarcerated every one of the Joker's goons they could find, the Doctor called the lift to the underground floor back up, and finally it arrived. He couldn't be too far behind the Bat, and he needed his sonic screwdriver before he could go any further with his rescue attempt.

He entered the metal container and pushed the button for down rapidly. The doors breezed along their runners and shut. Pulleys and breaks and weights began their work and the lift descended.

"**Oh, woe! The make believe hero is joining the party."**

The Doctor looked up at the roof when the voice began mocking him. It was just how he'd imagine the clown's voice to be- insulting and critical, yet constantly amused. More like a bully taking the mick than a deranged criminal mastermind. The Doctor had a special dislike for bullies. He'd had enough experience of them as a child.

"**Don't worry doc, my boys will get you outta the way soon enough. Just don't spoil my fun."**

"It's Doctor, not doc," said the Time Lord, but Joker had already shut off the speaker; a clear dismissal that said the Doctor wasn't worthy of attention and beneath contempt. No doubt the chance to prove him wrong would soon come up.

The lift hit the bottom floor and the Doctor moved out of it briskly. The walls down there were grimy with mould congealing in the corners. The place was dimly lit with a yellowish hue.

"_Is it always like this down here, or has the Joker arranged this?"_

The Doctor went over to the observation window to see what was there to be observed. It was an ugly sight, with a half dissected corpse lying on a slab, with blood and little bits of internal organ scattered all over the place by some frenzy. Perhaps one of the mentally ill patients of Arkham. A number of empty body bags had been cast around the room. From the cleanliness of them it looked as though they hadn't been used. There were a few other bodies strewn about the place. It appeared that they'd been recently killed. What struck the Doctor was the look on the people's faces. Their eyes were bulging with terror, convulsions of horror frozen on their faces. Foam covered the mouths of most of them. For a moment the Doctor wondered if they'd died of rabies.

He quickly took in his surroundings. To the right was a dead end and a room that lead to nowhere. To the left was a large hole blown in the wall and a gateway that led into the makeshift abattoir. The Doctor went for the gateway, despite the fact the bars were down. The panel to open the gate was on the other side of the vertical metal beams, and without the sonic screwdriver he couldn't override the system from where he was, but they weren't his only options.

The Doctor looked carefully at the bars, making calculations in his head about trajectory and distance and various other things. He stepped back a few paces, sparing a look at the hole in the wall, but deciding it was more important to investigate the room for post mortems first. The Doctor bent his knees, pulled back his shoulders, and charged.

An almighty clang echoed throughout the lower level.

"Ow! Damn, that hurt!"

The Doctor now had his head wedged between the bars. The bars were pretty wide, and the Time Lord was remarkably thin. He'd determined that with some effort and by flexing his body and specific angles at specific times he could wriggle his way through the gate.

It turned out to by a longer and more arduous affair than he'd bargained for. Though his body was thin, the obstructing metal was non-obliging and apparently doing its utmost to obstruct the alien forcing his way through the bars as if protesting against the denial of its task of keeping people out. The Doctor crammed his body, which he once considered to be as thin as a rake but now wasn't so sure, through the gap. His chest was forcibly tightened as he made his way through, threatening to cut off his air supply, something he could really do with right now. He moved his body forward with a series of complex muscle flexes that worked him painfully past the portcullis. Eventually his chest slid free from the gap, and his pelvis popped through without much difficulty.

"_Note to self- get back on the Slim Fast diet."_

With his mind distracted by thoughts of strawberry flavoured health milkshakes, the Doctor cancelled out the slight pain caused by his impromptu entrance and went to check the dead. The body he came to was that of a guard. The frightened eyes seemed to plead for assistance from the man examining him, even after death had passed.

From what little he could gather the Doctor came to the conclusion that no physical damage had caused the death. Without the sonic screwdriver or a psyker autopsy he couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though the guard's brain had literally shut down- simply cut off all messages to the flesh in order to divert its energies to matters it perceived as more pressing. What on earth could have addled this man's mind so much as to fool it into believing that it had to abandon the body to its fate, a fate that would have been quickly shared by the brain as it became starved of blood and oxygen? The victims had probably suffered a long and terrible death, their conscious minds trapped in their heads with whatever it was that had influenced their brains- whatever it was that had terrified them so, feeling their life trickle away as their thoughts grew dark until the brain finally expired.

The Doctor sniffed the air. Something foul was lingering in the atmosphere. Some sort of residual chemical hanging in the autopsy theatre, perhaps even a biological weapon. Maybe that had something to do with the awful deaths. But whatever the chemical was it had dissipated enough that even an ordinary man wouldn't be affected by it. Naturally the Doctor's immune system was completely invulnerable to a substance of such limited potency.

The Doctor considered the victims around him. They'd suffered cruel deaths, and the Doctor didn't exactly feel in the mood for objecting to retribution right now.

"I'm sorry." he looked around so that all of them were encompassed into his useless apology.

"I won't be so slow next time. This won't happen again."

He got up and left without ceremony. There was no time to do anything for the dead. He'd already been too late to try and help the people who were now sprawled out over the floor of the operating room. If he wasn't careful, someone else could suffer the same fate.

The door was locked, but the lock was old and easily picked with a pair of tweezers and a scalpel. Security was lacking down there since any patient there should be dead. The Doctor strode through the door into another corridor.

Thankfully the hallway he was in didn't smell as bad as the room behind him, but it was as grubby, poorly maintained and dimly lit as the rest of the lower floor. The walls were coloured like old parchment and were nearly in as bad a condition. Pipes on the roof were cracked and splintered, some with insulating fluff hanging out of them. The corridor took an immediate right turn, going down some steps and then left. Following this path, the Doctor came to a T-junction. The left path went on in the direction that a signpost proclaimed as 'Morgue'. The hall also went to the right, up to a heavy set of doors. In front of the doors there were three men, clearly escaped prisoners. They were barricading the door with beams and furniture and anything they could get their hands on. The Doctor glanced towards the other passageway. If he could get down there unnoticed he could head off away from them and hopefully find the Batman, who was better qualified to deal with this sort of situation. The Doctor didn't like violence, but he appreciated the need for it, as many of his defeated enemies could attest to if they were still alive. However, the brutal hands-on fighting that was needed to get by the muscle bound grunts was way beyond the Doctor's ability. He wouldn't stand a chance against them.

The Doctor's attempts to sneak by were fruitless. The moment he took a step one of the thugs happened to turn in his direction, just by chance.

"Who the Sam-hell is that!" he blasted as he spotted the Doctor. "Hey knife boy- lose the loser, will ya?"

As soon as he'd said this, a wiry looking man in red prison overalls broke away and bounded down the hall, two combat knives whirling in his hands.

The Doctor was frozen in shock and slight panic, unable to even think of how to save himself from getting knifed. All his life he'd had a backup plan or a more intelligent method of defeating his foes. The man approaching wouldn't be overpowered by anything but brute force. And the Doctor found himself seriously ignorant in the art of combat.

The thug came within arm's reach and swung with his right, knife held point down in a classic stabbing style. The Doctor fell back and the blade missed by an inch. The thug stabbed with the left. The bowie knife, seeking to gouge a hole in the Time Lord's stomach, missed again as the Doctor danced out of reach.

"Where'd you get all this gear?" asked the Doctor incredulously, trying to recall as much of the Venusian Aikido his previous selves had learnt as he dodged another swipe. The brutish man howled in anger and rushed at the Doctor, who turned and fled back into the room filled with dead bodies.

The knife man followed, slashing and hacking at thin air, enraged at being given the run-around. Back in the room, the Doctor got caught between the blade wielder and the bars he'd just spent so long slipping through. He cursed himself for not taking the path that began with the hole in the wall, seeing now that he could have followed Batman's path and had the vigilante as a bodyguard.

The armed punk snarled and lunged forward with his knives scything the air.

Time slowed in the Doctor's mind, part from fear, part from his natural Time Lord abilities turning the passage of time in his favour, if only mentally. He ran through his various options, taking stock of his situation, considering both the current and immanent future situations, and reminding himself of his objective.

Donna.

Suddenly everything became clear. This was no time to be cowering or running- Donna needed him. The Doctor forgot about hating violence for a moment and quickly came up with a solution for the problem he faced. With clarity flowing thick in his mind, that's all the thug was. A logic problem that needed to be solved. Easy.

The pace of time returned, and the killer descended on the Doctor. The Doctor moved aside neatly and his foot shot out.

The thug tripped. He tumbled head over heels. There was a metallic _BONG_, and he slumped to the floor.

The Doctor grinned as he surveyed his handiwork. The thug had knocked himself cold on the gate. Now for the other two.

The Doctor prepared the scene, spilling jars of paste and liquid all over the floor before going back down the hall again.

"Well, that was fun!" the Doctor blew his fist and shook his fingers theatrically. "Well, who's next?"

The pair of remaining goons double-taked at the blue suited man. One of them, a beefy looking bloke with a gormless expression, said "Look Lockjaw, He's still standin'."

"Damn, how'd a suit get the jump on ol' blades? You take him!"

Big And Stupid nodded once, then snatched at a piece of lead piping set into the wall. With minimal effort he tore the meter long pole away from its brackets. His face snapped from simple minded into animalistic in a split second and he charged the Doctor with a bloodthirsty roar ejecting from his throat.

The Doctor swiftly darted back to the operating room, every bit the thin and reedy man escaping the wrath of an outraged orangutan disguised as a human being. The huge brute thumped after him into the room. The moment he was in, Big And Stupid slipped on the mess laid out on the floor by the Doctor, and with assistance from the Time Lord's foot he tumbled down.

The Doctor grabbed the pipe from Big And Stupid's hand and ran to the door. He got outside and shut the door, jamming the lead bar through the handles. A moment later the doors heaved and a howl like that from a beast driven wild with anger came from within. The Doctor ignored and went to face his final opponent.

"I don't believe it," the thug identified as Lockjaw stepped away from the barricade which was now guarded by three clockwork teeth. He laughed mockingly. "So you took the big guy too. Well, now you gotta take me."

He stepped forward, taking a set of brass knuckles from his pocket and sliding the metal over his fingers.

"Hope the garbage guys and here soon, cus' I'm about to _waste you_!"

Lockjaw sprinted forward. The Doctor stayed put. Lockjaw drew back his arm to deliver a horrific blow, but the Doctor ran clear at the last moment and headed in the direction of the morgue. Lockjaw pursued with a laugh as his prey ran for his life.

The Doctor soon came to another set of doors, and quickly he formed another plan to overpower the great lug following him. He burst through the doors, and fortunately there was no one there except a man lying dead against the wall. The Doctor slammed the doors shut again and pressed his ear to it. He listened intently as he heard the footsteps of Lockjaw drawing closer and closer. At the right moment, the Doctor silently apologised to himself for the impending violent display, and opened the door.

Lockjaw stumbled out into the corridor, clearly surprised at the door opening just as he was about to force his it open. He looked to who it was who'd let him in, only to have the Doctor kick the door closed, whereupon it slammed into the inmate and brained him.

The Doctor watched Lockjaw whither to the floor, disgusted by the violence despite his urgent desire to rush to Donna's rescue. Hopefully it wouldn't happen again. After all, the person he was after was Danielle, _not_ Donna. It was more like an act of politeness. The sort of thing one did for a casual acquaintance. The person he was looking for was not his companion.

The Doctor pulled himself together, trying to focus on the immediate situation.

As if to prove he was not obsessing over the alter ego of a friend he'd abandoned to her painfully mundane life with no memory of who she really was, the Doctor checked the dead body slumped in the corner of his vision. The man was undeniably dead. He looked fairly old, and probably wouldn't have lasted long against the group of scumbags the Doctor had only just managed to outwit. Then again, he didn't seem to have been killed by the great oafs- his body had suffered no physical injury. The Arkham guard appeared to have been killed by whatever had got those who'd been trapped in the operating theatre.

A strangled cry issue from down another hallway. The Doctor jumped to his feet and gazed in the direction of the yell. The voice was undeniable.

"Batman!"

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Bruce tried to clear his head, but everything was fuzzy and confusing. As far as he could tell, someone had managed to overpower and stun him, before strapping him down to a hard surface in the morgue. There were voices around him, but he couldn't make any of them out. He pulled his head up, in spite of the fact it felt like it weighed several pounds. He couldn't see the crowd implied by the number of voices he could hear. There was only one figure within his range of sight- a man wearing ugly brown clothes and a hood. His face was somehow wrong. It was rough and crinkled, not at all like skin. And the eyes- eyes glowing fearsome yellow like the embers of a dying fire, and around the neck a hangman's noose.

Suddenly it clicked into place. It was Scarecrow!

"Problem little bat?" the living mannequin prodded the restrained man who struggled frantically in his binds.

"Is your mind playing tricks on you, or and I?" he taunted while he switched hands. His right hand had deadly claws like syringe needles, growing out of fingers filled with poisonous yellow pus. Veins of the same colour stretched back over his hand and up the ragged sleeve of the Scarecrow's clothing. The terrible fear toxin coursed through those veins, and Bruce couldn't stop himself from shuddering as the claws raked over his chest armour.

"Fear drives everything," Wayne positively quaked as the gash in the cloth face moved with the words as a mouth, thick ghostly white stitches playing the part of teeth, huge funnels of a gas mask jutting from the cheeks like rusty cannons on the side of a decayed sunken vessel. He tried again to get away, pulling as hard as he could at the straps on his arms.

"Your life is governed by fear."

Suddenly, the masked vigilante lurched upwards, still trapped on the surface he was tied to. He looked for a way to escape from his crisis, but all his gadgets had been removed and his binds were unbreakable. He had to get away from Crane before he used that poison on him, or else...

"Batman, is that you?" a distant voice called. Bruce had never been so pleased to hear someone else's voice. It was that man, John Smith- the Doctor!

The Doctor was his only hope.

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"Batman, is that you?" the Doctor called down the hallway.

Nothing.

The Doctor was certain it'd been the Batman's voice yelling. He'd waited a minute or two, peeking round the corner that lead down to the morgue, but there'd been no sign of anyone or anything. Did that mean he'd imagined the noise? Or did it mean anyone in the morgue was now dead? Or did it mean something so unspeakable was going on that everyone's attention was far too preoccupied to take notice of him calling back.

Despite hating violence, the Doctor had felt a certain amount of confidence and bravado swell up in his stomach after he'd held his own against the small mob lead by Lockjaw. But at the sound of the imposing Batman screaming in pain and/or fear, he felt the confidence trickle away as though he'd wet himself.

"_Something that could well happen depending on what I find down there,"_ the Doctor thought to himself as he prepared to move. He knew he had to investigate; to try and help. That was his purpose. But if there was something going on that Batman couldn't handle, did the unarmed Time Lord stand a chance?

The Doctor rushed down the corridor as quickly and quietly as possible, with the intent of surprising anyone just outside the morgue.

Again, no one was there when he rounded the corner. Just a pair of double doors leading into the room of the dead, left marginally open. There was a second door to the left, made of metal and lined with condensation as though something inside was generating icy coldness. He ignored it for now.

The Doctor approached the doors to the morgue, keeping an eye out for any sort of trap. Again, there was none. He once again decided that surprise would be the best option.

The Doctor braced himself in a start off position and then charged the doors, hoping the outcome was a bit more positive than when he charged the metal gate.

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There was the sound of running feet. He tried to shout a warning, but his throat was somehow constricted. As the footsteps grew louder a shadow appeared through the doors of the morgue that had been left ajar, and someone stood behind the door with a baton. Bruce strove to scream at the P.I before he came bursting in, but the pressure in his neck increased, choking him, making him buck and writhe in an effort to suck in air. Black spots danced in his eyes as the lung strain went on, chest burning with pain. Despite this he saw the awful conclusion to Smith's attempted rescue as he pushed open the doors and was immediately clubbed to the ground by four goons who seemed to spring from nowhere.

At last the grip on Bruce's neck slackened, and he gasped and breathed deep to take in the precious oxygen he'd been starved of. The one responsible for the chokehold moved in front of him, revealed as Victor Zsasz.

"Maybe you'll still be alive after this Batman," the bald, half naked loony murmured unsympathetically, fingering one of the tally marks cut into his face "then I'll be able to add your mark to my collection. I never did show you where I was going to put yours, did I?"

"Save it, Slicey," came a childish voice from the doorway. Harley swaggered in with an entourage of her creeps, Blackgate inmates and maniacs in straitjackets working together in harmony.

Harley Quinn looked at the broken form of John Smith, then laughed and turned to the captured crime fighter. "Bring old ugly over here!" she shouted.

Bruce Wayne began to struggle violently as Zsasz began pulling him towards the deranged group. He turned out to be stuck on the same sort of trolley mounted stretcher that the Joker had been placed on when he arrived at the asylum.

He was bought close, and Smith was pulled to his knees so his stunned and blooded face was on display.

"Man, I would've thought you'd have locked this dummy up somewhere so that he didn't get himself hurt. Bad decision of yours, Bats," Harley taunted.

"Every decision you make is a product of fear," Crane rasped. "You let the Doctor run lose, because you feared to be alone down here. You wouldn't take him with you where he'd be safe, because you hoped he would draw your enemies away from you. Your fear has condemned this man."

"Well, what do you expect from the Bat?" the Joker's voice rang out from somewhere. "More blood on his hands- so what's new? Least he could do is drink the stuff like any normal bat."

"Don't worry; no blood this time." Crane's voice echoed as he approached John, who looked at the villain in bewildered curiosity. "Just a little medicine to break him in."

Scarecrow's hand flew out in a snake strike, nipping Smith's neck with two poison laced fangs. At once the private eye tensed up, expression turned to horror. Then he screamed, much in the same way that Bruce had. He fell from the henchmen's grasp to the floor, clutching his head and whining like a wounded animal, beset by God knows what.

Bruce gritted his teeth as the sound of suffering dug into him like physical pain, voices in his head blaming him for the P.I's situation.

"What's wrong, batty? If you think Mister Smith is lonely we could send you down the same path to join him if you like," the Joker said as he suddenly appeared in the doorway, flanked by two bodyguards. Bruce struggled again, trying to slip his hands free, while his enemies clustered around him.

"See that! He's trying to get away!" said Joker. "What's he doing! The madhouse is the best place for him, and he wants to escape? Is he crazy or something!"

The Joker paused and looked at the gathered people for an answer, before seeming to realise what he said. "Oh right… heh heh heh!"

"Don't be too hard on him Mister J. He can't help himself," Harley whined as she leaned on her boyfriend's arm, caressing a lapel with her finger lovingly.

"Yes, we ought to feel sorry for him." Scarecrow glided by, a glowing eyed spectre in the dim light. "He never got over the deaths of his parents."

Bruce winced, feeling his eyes prickle at the mention of his parents, long since dead. He couldn't find it in himself to care that Scarecrow claimed to know the truth about his past, and therefore, his identity. It could be that he looked under the mask and deduced it, or maybe he'd already administered a small dose of his fear toxin and was causing the vigilante to hear things. It didn't matter. At that point all he could think of was the cold, lonely alley where his parents were murdered.

"_I should have helped. I stood back and watched it happen. Why didn't I do something?"_ the young Bruce Wayne's voice cried from the recesses of his mind.

"_You should have stood up to him son, like a man."_ now his father's voice, the dregs of his memory providing the voice.

"Help us Bruce. Don't let us die." implored his mother. But wait, that voice wasn't in his head. Bruce opened his eyes and lifted his face from where it pointed down at his chest.

They were there. Against all reasoning his parents were standing at the Joker's shoulders, the figures he'd mistaken for bodyguards. They weren't alive, oh no. They were most certainly dead, just like the last time Bruce Wayne had seen them in their open caskets. They were gaunt and dreadful looking. Grey skin was wasted and rubbery, eyes rolled back into their faces leaving only blank white eyeballs, distorted by swollen veins. The tuxedo and sleek black dress his father and mother wore respectively were caked in mud and grime, as if they'd been dug up from somewhere.

They were zombies, simply as that.

"See what I mean?" Zsasz queried as he approached the undead. "See the zombies, living their pointless lives, and for what?"

"I think we now know what you fear, little bat," Doctor Crane lurched to the side, giving the Clown Prince of Crime a clear view of the prisoner. "He's all yours, Joker."

"Oh goody!" Harley practically squealed while Joker reached into his jacket.

"_This can't be happening."_ Bruce thought. _"This isn't real, is it? This is Crane's doing!"_

"Well then. Let's start the proceedings, with a _bang_!" Joker pulled a gun from his holster and aimed it at the Bat. It wasn't his usual oversized pistol, but the same gun that had been used to kill Tom and Martha Wayne.

"_This isn't real! This is an illusion!"_

"And at the end of fear, _oblivion_!" Scarecrow taunted.

Joker fired, and the world turned to darkness.

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The Doctor kicked open the doors to the morgue.

The sight that confronted him was unexpected to say the least.

On a raised dais in the middle of the room, Batman was curled up in a foetal position, clawing at his masked head and moaning. Above him stood a figure clad in brown burlap that was badly stitched and cobbled together from what appeared to be the filthiest, ugliest, dirtiest rags that could be found (it looked as though there may have been a few used bandages in the unpleasant selection). The assembly was wholly unnatural and repulsive. It made the unknown man looked almost like a scare-

"What was that!" the dirty figure responded to the sound of the doors opening. He turned round, presenting the Doctor with another ghastly sight.

The man's face was concealed by a combined hood and mask. Jagged holes for the eyes and mouth had been cut into the hessian and were reminiscent of a carved pumpkin face. The eyes under the hood were cruel and wild, and though the mouth was covered by a gas mask the face above it was tensed in the expression of a crazed mind. The snarling visage was partially concealed by clumsy stitches that kept the edges of the mouth shaped opening close together. The oddity's right hand was sheathed in a glove which held hypodermic syringes on the tips of the fingers and thumb in some sort of dark parody of claws

"Who are you?" the Doctor challenge, too repulsed by the abominable figure to feign politeness.

"Not who; what!" corrected the loathsome creature as he crept away from Batman, his thin and gangly build only adding to his creepy style.

The Dark Knight groaned on the floor and rolled so that he was facing the Doctor. His expression blazed through the mask, and he was clearly fighting against his pain.

"Doctor… Crane." he hissed. "Scare-"

The twisted being turned back to the Batman and swung his left arm up. He jerked his wrist and an aerosol spray of mist engulfed the fallen crime fighter, who cried out and went back to struggling in pain.

"Hey!" the Time Lord moved forward to intervene, his trademark righteous anger firing up. "That's enough of that, Doctor Cr-"

"There is no doctor!" the man screeched in indignation. He turned away again from the fallen Batman. "There is no Crane!" he brandished his needle claws. "ONLY SCARECROW!"

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The fantasy took on a new theme. Now Scarecrow was personified as a colossus of staggering size, levitating over a domain of endless sky that was incessantly ravaged by fire and lightening. The Scarecrow lifted Batman, who fitted nicely into his needle equipped palm, high above his head, parading him like a trophy, holding the bat where he couldn't escape.

Bruce Wayne cowered in Scarecrow's grip, wanting more than anything to escape, but terrified to confront the horrors of the demon's nightmare world alone. Above and below, a hurricane with a voice made up of a city's population dying in agony screamed tragically, holding both the tormentor and the tormented in the eye of the storm. The sky burned and dark shapes flitted by.

Bats.

Hundreds of thousands of leathery flaps of skin raced through the air, shrieking in panic. Entire flocks attempted to fly through the cocoon of thunder clouds only to be repelled back, their wings aflame. Some of the rodents landed on Bruce and Scarecrow's hand, driven mad by their need to escape to safety. In fright, the little horrors attacked anything within reach, instinctive fight or flight responses driving them to somehow spare themselves from the all consuming chaos of the storm. Bruce howled in disgust and fear, swiping at the vampire bats as they bit his skin and directed their high pitched banshee shrieks of pain into his ears.

A new sound joined the cacophony of madness. A thud- a booming roll of thunder like the crack of doom itself. Bruce clung on as the force of the thunder hit him and stretched the skin of his face back with its unrelenting strength.

"What was that!" the titan that Scarecrow had become swivelled in the air, still holding Bruce Wayne aloft and allowing him to be buffered by the fell storm.

In the distance another figure had appeared; a new and terrible form of life- a vile hulk of humanity's worst traits rolled into a giant bastardised freak. Enormous particles of contaminated, malformed and corrupted flesh, shimmering with a covering of organic fluids, moulded and flowed together in like quicksilver. The very presence of the entity quarrelled with decency as it loomed closer, and Bruce quaked with fear at the sight of its face. John Smith's face, hideously perverted by virulent disease and defined by the demonic fury in his eyes. The thing barked out something in a harsh guttural voice from a throat that sounded as though it had been ravaged by a storm of blades.

"Not who; what!" Scarecrow bellowed at the monster.

"_It's not a monster!"_ a voice that Bruce recognised called in his head. The voice of the Batman, somehow given the power of thought independent of the human being that the character resided in. Bruce had often heard suggestions that Batman was more like an alternative personality of himself than a false identity he'd adopted, but this was beyond anything he'd ever imagine. The Batman as an individual, sharing one mind and body with Bruce Wayne.

"_This whole world is not real! It's Crane's poison!"_ Batman refused to be cowed by the darkness about him. The Dark Knight seemed to lend his strength to Bruce, who breathed the courage in to sustain himself as he listened to Batman's calming voice; a lifeline of reason in the ocean of insanity.

"_That monster is the Doctor,"_ Batman reasoned dauntlessly. _"He's our only hope. Call to him!"_

At Batman's bidding (or was it his own? Was there a difference?) Bruce opened his mouth to speak. Even as he crammed the words out of his throat and to his lips, the demon began to look less terrible and more like the Private Eye he knew.

"Doctor… Crane," he managed with considerable effort. The flaming sky was doused, and the squeaking bats became infrequent and passive. "Scare-"

The ogre who held Bruce in his grip looked back at his captive.

The sky ignited again. The bats flew thick and furiously. Batman's voice drowned as the tides of the ocean of insanity swept Bruce away and left him reeling.

"ONLY SCARECROW!" the roar of the sea decimated Bruce Wayne's soul and purged innocence, courage and all positive concepts from everything it touched.

Then the clawed hand let go, and he fell. Down and down he went, the gales swallowing up his screams. He tried to grab onto the giant arm to save himself from the drop, but to no avail. The Scarecrow ignored his plight, turning a blind eye to the flailing body that fell towards its upturned face. The doomed man was an insignificance; a spot of bacteria beneath interest, the suffering inflicting upon him a boring distraction.

Bruce Wayne fell, uncared for and abandoned, down towards the Scarecrow's glowing eyes that swirled together to become a single, shining vortex leading into hell.

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_**Sorry if the Scarecrow's illusions/end of chapter was a little OTT. I was reading a Black Library book just before I wrote that bit**_

_**Next chapter posted within a month of the last. Is that a record? Anywho, please review**_


	5. Chapter 5

Another long tubular bulb burst in a flash of light. Doctor Crane grunted in dislike for the small blast. Once again distracted, he abandoned the spray device mounted on his wrist and lunged at the Doctor.

The Doctor jumped away, and scuttled round the work benches for cover, though he was careful not to lead Scarecrow anywhere near the crippled Batman in case he started injecting the vigilante again.

In spite of his intelligence, the Doctor couldn't devise a way to overpower the enemy. Whatever hallucinogenic was loaded in his apparatus, it was certainly powerful enough to overcome even a Time Lord's powerful biological defences. He dared not do anything that would bring himself within range of those needles, and thanks to a thrown jar of embalming fluid the aerosol was plugged up for now which left Crane without a ranged weapon. But without a way to defeat the Scarecrow, it was surely only a matter of time.

"No one is beyond fear!" Crane bounded onto the desk nearer the back of the room. "They scream, and they cry!" he leapt at the Doctor, who performed what could only be described as a drunken combat roll in order to avoid the attack. He soon lurched to his feet, moving to keep the bench on the left side of the platform between him and the fiend.

To the Doctor's right the Batman lay twitching, his pain an exhibit of the Scarecrow's cruelty, his moans an appeal for deliverance from the toxin that plagued him. The Doctor could not afford to spare him as much as a pitied glance. His focus was absolutely committed to the super villain that slid forward like a snake, but as far as the Doctor was concerned there was nothing super about him. Scarecrow was just another arrogant bully armed with unnecessary weapons and an assembly of clothing designed to invoke fear. That the creature that sought to strike the Time Lord was once a doctor disgusted him. Doctors were there to help people, to cure them of ailments and provide them with physical and emotional assistance. The Doctor thought of all his efforts to help people, and the many times he'd failed and caused death and destruction to his eternal shame. Scarecrow openly violated everything that the word 'doctor' stood for and it offended him like nothing else thus far had.

The Doctor forced himself to focus as Scarecrow drew closer. The brown outfitted tyrant was clearly the predator of the conflict, and the Doctor was the prey. But even the prey had a trick or two up his sleeve.

The Doctor broke into a loping run as he dodged another slash of needles, heading to the doors of the morgue. He remembered knocking the brute Lockjaw cold by kicking a similar set of doors into his face. Perhaps he could do the same with the Scarecrow.

The wiry psychopath charged after his target, laughing with perverse joy. The Doctor reached the doors and tried to pull them closed, but Crane got his hand between the shrinking gap in time and flung the doors wide. The Doctor went to turn tail and run, intending to lead the man down the hall until another opportunity presented itself, but that deadly hand flicked out and drove him against the metal door off to the side.

The Doctor pressed himself against the metal sheet that was dappled with condensed droplets, feeling moisture seep into his clothing. Scarecrow moved in front of him, flexing his clawed hand in brutal anticipation.

"What's wrong, little man? Scared of Scarecrow?"

The Doctor refused to respond, just as he denied being afraid of the evil Doctor Crane; he had to. Batman could die of the luminous yellow poison coursing in his veins unless the Doctor could help him, and if the Doctor himself was to become infected then hope for Danielle Noble would be no more. Besides, the Doctor had wisdom on his side. Most people might well have given into to the lull of close combat in a desperate bid to defeat Scarecrow and prevent his accursed toxin from being put to use, but any such attempt would surely result in contamination from that same toxin. As always the Doctor rejected any such desire to deliver Scarecrow the beating he probably deserved, looking to take the moral and mental high ground. Crane's needles poked forward like a platoon's worth of poison laced pikes, but the Doctor knew from experience that a single knife in the dark could be twice as effective as an entire armoury full of spears. An opportunity would come, and the Doctor would exploit it and defeat the Scarecrow mercilessly unless he capitulated, for nothing would stop the Time Lord from saving innocent lives.

"Doctor Crane, can't you see how mad this all is?" the Doctor spoke with a firm tone while his hands scrabbled behind his back in a search of the valve handle for the ice cold door.

"There is no Crane! Only-"

"I know all that and it's not important. Look at what you've done. Can't you see how twisted you've become? Whether or not you're Crane or Scarecrow, I know that you were once a doctor. Is this what a doctor is supposed to do? Spread fear and pain?"

"Fear is a disease," Crane waved his medical needles in a hazy fashion. "Disease must be studied before it can be understood. Look how far my research has progressed."

"This isn't research, this is insanity!" the Doctor insisted. "You could have used your skills to help people, but all you do is torment them with this so called research."

"Fear is the basis of everything. Why try to fight it?"

The Doctor got a grip on the handle for the door and braced himself as Scarecrow drew even closer to cut off any route of retreat.

"Fear is not a plaything, and neither is human life. Either you stop what you're doing Crane, or _I'll_ stop you!"

"NO-CRANE!" the mask villain wailed. "ONLY _SCARECROW_!"

Scarecrow's hand lashed out. The Doctor opened the door behind him and fell back under the syringe equipped glove which he grabbed and tried to yank off, heedless as he pulled Doctor Crane down on top of him. Crane's skinny build was a good match for the Doctor, and though he managed to hold on to his glove, the two had reached a brief stalemate, each unable to overpower the other.

Memories of Freddy Krueger rose unbidden in the Time Lord's mind. He too had been an object of fear, and overcoming that fear was the key to his defeat. The Doctor vaguely considered that according to the theory of parallel worlds, Freddy Krueger probably existed somewhere as more than a character. But that was a story for another time. Right then and there, the Doctor needed some way to beat Scarecrow if he wanted to get away alive and sane.

Ever one to improvise, the Doctor looked into the room he'd fallen into. It was no bigger than a box room, and there was only one object in there. A wide glass tube clung from the ceiling and reached into a complex metallic base on the floor. Tubes and pipes were coming out of the walls and going into either the base or the glass.

When the Doctor saw what was in the tube, he thought Crane must have managed to infect him with his hallucinogenic chemical after all. There was a ravaged corpse in the case, floating in a light blue liquid. But unlike the body in the autopsy theatre, this one hadn't been damaged by human hands. The body had clearly been dead for years, perhaps even centuries. The flesh was putrefied and decayed so badly in places that beige and yellow bones could be seen jutting out of parts of the body.

It was a cryogenic freezing capsule, but the deceased man inside had passed away long before the preserving process had been carried out. What possible reasoning could there have been to dig the body up and freeze it now?

Taking a chance, the Doctor reached out with his right hand, leaving the left to hold back Scarecrow's primary weapon as it pressed towards his head. His hand snared a pipe with the chemical symbol for nitrogen stencilled on it. He pulled on the slack of the snaking cable till it was as far as it would go, then waited for an opening that didn't take long to arrive.

Scarecrow suddenly pulled back his arm out of the Doctor's grip. His hand, a wicked spindly legged spider, struck down again for a poisonous bite, breaking through the one hand barrier and going straight for the face. The Doctor pulled the nitrogen pipe out to its fullest and held it before his face. The insect like appendages stabbed into the tube.

Crane, disgusted by the turn of events, placed his other hand on the tube and concentrated on freeing his favourite medical instrument. The trapped Time Lord slipped out from under his grasp and hurtled out the room before he could be stopped. Doctor Crane growled and frantically tore his needles free. He spun and took a fighting stance to challenge the Doctor's casual slouch against the door frame.

Scarecrow surged forward with murder in his eyes. The Doctor sprang into action and grabbed the metal door, swinging it closed as those toxic claws led the way to his throat.

The door slammed down on Scarecrow's outstretched hand. There was a crump, followed by an anguished cry. The mad psychiatrist forced the door wide again and waved the Doctor back with the wounded hand he now cradled. The Doctor nearly laughed at the pathetic young man; the door was heavy but could only have caused bruising at the most, and this so called super villain was nursing the injury like a war wound.

Then the Doctor noticed blood and broken glass, and he realised.

"Oh dear. That looks painful." the Doctor said unsympathetically to the despicable man. Crane only whimpered and held up his hands in a half aggressive, half defensive gesture. Two of the vials of fear toxin were smashed. Shards of broken glass perched themselves on Scarecrow's hand and up his forearm.

"Enjoying a taste of your own medicine, doctor?" the Time Lord quipped, knowing the potent solution must have entered Scarecrow's blood stream.

The Doctor always enjoyed poetic justice. Apart from anything, it felt less cruel to only put someone through the same thing they put others through. But it was more than just Crane falling victim to his own weapon; he was being taught a lesson. Crane had laboured under assumption that he understood true fear. Crane believed that all that was needed to be better than others was to control their fears. He thought nothing of the people themselves. He thought nothing of the suffering he caused, nor did he consider that true fear could be overcome by courage and will power. He steadfastly believed that there was nothing more subtle or profound, and that all it took was to present an object of fear to control people. But that wasn't what it was about. There was so much more to life, and to people, and to defeating people who deserved to be defeated. The Doctor had proved as much by standing against Doctor Crane, not with weapons but with his wits, overcoming the mad man by relying on his predictable ferociousness to carry him into harm's way.

Now it was time for Scarecrow to learn the only thing to fear was fear itself.

"You're right Crane- fear must be studied before it can be understood," the Doctor stepped forward, and Crane cowered back "and there comes a time when everyone has to ask themselves 'What are you truly afraid of?'."

Crane's mind's eye- John Smith's voice was a racket from the underworld, but white noise screamed at him when there was no voice. Perception was flawed. Only memory and emotion existed. Crane could see himself; not looking down at his body, but from another point of view as if he were suddenly a different person. He looked at himself in his evil doer garb, ranting and raving and dancing about with his claws held high. The image inexplicably transformed so that the Scarecrow character became a sad looking performing bear with Quincy Sharpe dressed as a circus ringmaster. The bear was pathetic, and Crane was horrified to see that the third rate acting animal retained his own facial features. The once famed Doctor Crane nothing but an animal that put on an act to impress the observers, overseen by the likes of Sharpe. Before he could contemplate the insult the bear became monstrous, looming up with its shadow covering everything and turning its teeth to face the trembling psychiatrist. Crane hated animals so much. They couldn't be controlled and fended off like humans. They were monsters! Then the bear vanished, and its shadow became a flock of shrieking bats, clawing at Crane's skin, tangling in his hair. Before he could resist, the bats gathered into the shape of the caped crusader, standing over the fallen Scarecrow, easily beaten. Crane saw himself clearly for the first time in years, and reached only one conclusion- he was insane.

Doctor Crane howled in torment, covering his face with his hands and running away down the corridor. The Doctor watched him go with a grim frown. No matter how ugly things got, he could never really get used to it.

The Doctor looked into the storage room. The corpse continually floated in its prison, uncaring and silent. There was a small plaque attached to the base of the container.

'Amadeus Arkham' it read.

So obviously the man had something important to do with the asylum, most likely being its founder. Still, why would someone want to recover his body after what must have been many, many years and try to preserve it now?

His thoughts were drawn away from the deathly spectacle by the sound of Batman moaning in pain again. The Doctor abandoned the display and re-entered the morgue.

The Doctor examined the disguised Bruce Wayne. He was impressed by how well the man was resisting the toxin he'd absorbed. Scarecrow had killed about seven people with a gaseous form of his poison. Batman had taken both a spray of gas and a dose of the liquid toxin if the puncture wounds in his neck were anything to go by. Batman's strength of will must have been astounding to survive the mental effects of the poison.

Still, that was only half the battle, because no amount of willpower would expel a foreign substance from the bloodstream. At least not from a human mind. A Time Lord, however, could consciously manipulate his body to thin out bacteria, increase production of antibodies and move harmful substances to out of the way non-vital parts of his body, among other things. Despite how well Batman was doing, the Doctor decided to help him along a bit.

Placing his hands over Batman's head, the Doctor closed his eyes and dived into Bruce Wayne's mind.

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Bruce was now wrapped in a straightjacket and chained to a wheelchair. He wanted to struggle or scream for help but he felt so weak and feeble, drained of all energy. Even as he trundled through the corridors of Arkham witnessing horror after horror, he couldn't even spur his thoughts into frantic action, let alone his body. He just took it all in, half brain dead, only lucid enough to feel miserable as opposed to mortified.

"And now for our high security section!" Joker announced the next stage of the mock asylum inspection "You should be proud of your work, Mister Wayne. Business is booming in Arkham and its all thanks to you!"

The clown bent at the waist from where he directed the way to the next room, grinning and staring intently as though he knew he was a figment of Bruce's imagination and was enjoying his chance to hurt the man deeper than ever before.

Harley Quinn, wearing her older super criminal suit, jerked the wheelchair to a halt as they came into a room with vaults lining the walls.

"I don't think he's enjoying the tour Joker," Harley drawled "What a noob!"

A small part of Bruce Wayne knew perfectly well that none of it was real, but the rational voice had been tucked away in a dark recess of his mind, leaving him unable to ward off the sickening farce that was forcedly displayed at the forefront of his thoughts, trapping him inside his own head.

Voices came from behind the sealed vaults; voices that he recognised. People he knew shouted and cursed at him. In front of the portals the Riddler, with his lime green suit and hat replaced with a white doctor's coat, moved past, pointing at different cells. Only half of his mocking words penetrated Wayne's trauma dulled mind.

"Aaron Cash. Replaced his hand with a hook. Fancy that!"

"Good thing Gordon's dead. What a psychopath!"

"Poor Barbara. A bright future destroyed by her megalomania. A lobotomy for her."

"Child abuse is a serious crime, especially against young Master Wayne. Alfred Pennyworth, it's the chair for you."

Bruce watched on as silent tears dripped down his face. How had it come to this? Was this what his life amounted to?

"_Batman?" _a voice queried from the darkness. Bruce frowned in confusion, the nightmare forgotten for a moment. That voice- it was like the voice of God, coming out of nowhere, laced with absolute power, yet at the same time it was familiar, the tone and light accent as recognisable as if it had come from an old friend, even though he'd only known the voice's owner for a brief time.

"_Bruce, can you hear me? Listen to me- nothing you see is real. It's Doctor Crane's hallucinogenic that's doing it. I can help you fight it off. You just have to concentrate."_

Bruce tried to focus on the voice. The words were clear, but the meaning was garbled. The members of his rogue gallery continued to distract him, oblivious to the intruding voice.

"_Bruce, just concentrate. Don't be afraid."_

Don't be afraid.

A memory broke through the veil of madness. A man with a strict and dignified face but with a kind smile and wise eyes. It was Bruce's father. The last thing he'd ever said to his son was 'Don't be afraid', just before he died of his gunshot wound.

'Don't be afraid'.

Bruce clung to the words like a mantra, repeating them over and over again. The images around him were becoming darker, the laughs of the Joker more distant. Memories of things Bruce knew to be real came back slowly, and he toyed with the remembered ideas like a toddler who'd just been presented with a gift. The numbness of his brain was gently massaged away by the voice that continued to sooth his aching thoughts. With newfound strength, Bruce threw all his willpower against the smothering darkness around him-

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- And finally Batman came round.

The Doctor pulled his hands back and slumped to the floor in mental exhaustion. That had been tough, but at last it was over. The last of Crane's poison had been isolated in the Dark Knight's foot where a legion of white blood cells were devouring it.

The Doctor just sat still to gather his wits while the Batman recovered. He couldn't afford to wait long though, as the vigilante may want to know how the Doctor had managed to invade his psyche, and also may question how he knew his name. That had been a risky thing to do, addressing Batman by his real name, but it had allowed him to find his way into the crime fighter's mind and take control. However, what the Batman would do to someone who'd discovered his true identity, the Doctor didn't know. Right now it was probably best to get as far away from him as possible.

The Doctor leaned over the semi-conscious Batman and gave him a once over. Satisfied he should recover completely in about fifteen to twenty minutes, the Doctor decided it was safe to recover his sonic screwdriver.

The moment his hand touched the compartment that held the tool, the Doctor found himself lying upside down against one of the tables with a fleeting memory of being hit by a bolt of lightning.

The Doctor struggled till he was the right way up and went back to the belt. So, the Batman had set a trap on his toys. Not enough to stop the Doctor.

Forcing himself to stay put, the Time Lord resisted the electricity as it rippled across his body, burning at his pain receptors relentlessly. After a few seconds of minor torment, the Doctor rose up triumphant with sonic screwdriver in his grip. Mission accomplished.

Now it was time for Donna.

"_No. Danielle,"_ the Doctor hissed at himself as he made his way back to the junction where the thug known as Lockjaw was still groaning.

A quick investigation revealed that the corridor the Doctor hadn't explored led to a dead end with no remarkable features except a broken open air vent (the Batman's method of entry apparently).

That left only one unexplored path.

As he made his way there, the Doctor recalled his actions when he'd first got down to the lower levels- tripping people up, kicking doors in their faces. So unlike him. Aggressive to the point of violent. He'd practically lost control of himself. All because of this Danielle Noble. He didn't even know her. He had to get a grip before he really hurt someone. 'Danni' was no more or less important than any other soul in Arkham. He was _not_ trying to save the person he'd grown so close to a year ago, and he was _not_ going to leave injured people in his wake. He was going to handle this as he always had- with integrity and moral fibre. He was determined to see that those traits defined him, and wouldn't let emotions cloud his judgement. That was a mistake made by humans, _not_ Time Lords.

"_So you're saying that Time Lords are better than humans because they'll put people's lives on the line rather than risk getting their hands dirty? Yeah, real superiority there."_

The Doctor almost tripped over his own feet in surprise. What had made him think up that objection, and why had it spoken in Donna's voice?

Once again, the Doctor decided his thoughts were no safe sanctuary, and returned his concentration to the waking world.

By now he was at the place where he met the three thugs who'd been barricading the doors leading out of the area. Screams and roars from the bulky but slow witted thug, affectionately dubbed 'Big And Stupid', went on without any hope of stopping, joined by the yells of the second thug who was also trapped by the Doctor in the autopsy room. The blockade they'd set up was still in place. Not only had furniture been piled up, but iron girders had been prized or blown out of the ceiling and added to the clog. Flushing out the blockage wouldn't be a simple task; if those girders were pulled away completely the roof could collapse. A pack of three clockwork teeth were on the hunt in front of the double doors. The Doctor fingered the set of teeth he'd acquired earlier that night, wondering if he should activate the explosive and use it to wipe out the chattering pests in his way. Perhaps not his best idea. He decided to save the teeth for later.

Then the Doctor spied another passage in the right wall. It was just far enough away from the teeth that he wouldn't be bothered by them. The Doctor moved into the side passage, confident that it wasn't a dead end and would lead him to whatever it was the gang of punks had wanted to keep sealed away.

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The vulnerable Bruce Wayne had taken back burner again. Batman was back in control.

He staggered down the hall. His body burned, his brain throbbed, but he kept on going. There was no time to lose.

"_Bruce, are you okay?"_ came Barbara's voice from his earpiece. _"What happened? I lost contact."_

"I had a run in with Scarecrow; slowed me down," Batman explained tersely "I'll get back to you," he ended the transmission quickly. Oracle's disembodied voice reminded him too much of the unknown entity that had come to his aid during his stint in Crane's make-believe world. The voice had addressed him by his true name, and it had sounded like the Doctor's voice. Had it been merely a part of the fantasy, or had John Smith discovered Bruce Wayne's dark secret? He had to find out, though he didn't know what he'd do if it was true. Plus there was still the situation of the Arkham takeover that had to be dealt with. The night was far from over.

However, it wasn't all doom and gloom. Batman at last came across the one thing he wanted to check more than anything.

At the T-junction just down the hallway from the morgue, a body was lying against the wall. The body was that of an elderly looking security guard, not Jim Gordon.

Thank Heavens for small mercies.

Batman fell back to the floor, overwhelming relief sapping the last of his strength. It wasn't Gordon who'd been killed, just an unfortunate guard.

He felt a stab of guilt as he looked back at the corpse- a life he'd failed to save. He shoved the guilt away and concentrated on his surroundings as he waited for his energy to creep back up to an acceptable level.

Now he had actually stopped, he noticed that there weren't smears of blood all over the walls as he'd originally thought, and the insects were gone. The dead guard hadn't been killed by a gash across the throat, but by Crane's fear toxin. Batman thought back to the autopsy room where he'd seen bodies from the morgue piled up and ripped apart. Had that all been a part of his imagination as well? Crane's toxin must have affected him more than he thought.

"**Are you lost, little Bat?"** Joker giggled from wherever he was watching Batman deal with his internal turmoil **"Having trouble working out what's real and what's just a figment of your twisted imagination? Same here!"** Joker giggled, then added **"Just roll with it Bat's. It feels so much easier. It really does."**

Batman blocked out Joker's taunting. At that point, it would only slow him down more. Just a few minutes to rest, then he'd be on his way again. Gordon was still alive, and he had to find him.

Then he'd deal with the Doctor.

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_**Following requests from readers of this fic, I'm having a go of posting shorter chapters in order that the updates might appear a little faster. Not sure if I'll continue with that in future. If you have any opinions on this please tell me in your review. Enjoy this chapter.**_


	6. Chapter 6

"**Well, this is disappointing,"** Joker sounded anything _but_ disappointed **"I always thought my jokes were bad, but this time it seems I've met my match. At least tell me that 'Doctor' is your stage name and you're not **_**actually**_** a doctor working in this nut house?"**

The Doctor didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. Instead, he just stared at the screen mounted on the wall.

For the first time he saw Joker in the (digitally remastered) flesh.

The clothing arrangement alone was awful- a bright violet suit with pinstripes so thin they were nearly invisible, and a sickly yellow shirt with an absurdly ruffled collar and sleeves. His face was as white as a polished skull. His lips were perfectly crimson. The Joker's build was thin and lanky. His chin was sharp at the tip of his face, in practically the same shape as the hair line at the front of his head just above his brow. The rest of his wildly frizzy, toxic green hair was shoved back to the peak of his head as though he'd been constantly running his gloved paws through it with glee. His eyes didn't suggest madness, only a wicked enthusiasm and a marginal capacity for mischief.

They could well be the Doctor's own eyes, but he tried not to think about that.

"**Well you made it here before the Bat, so I guess you get to take his place. Your precious police commissioner is just through the glass. Take a look."**

Seeing no reason to argue at this point, the Doctor moved into the disused workspace he found himself in. There were old desks along the walls, scattered with papers and assorted junk, such as an umbrella, broken computers and a teddy bear. At the end of the room a large window looked into an office which in turn overlooked a chamber built around some sort of small glass structure like a green house. Heavily armed thugs policed the room diligently.

In the office the Doctor spied on, a woman in a horrendously coloured mock nurse's uniform carried an automatic weapon in her arms as she verbally taunted a gruff looking elderly man handcuffed to a chair. He had a thin coating of hair on his head and a wide moustache on his face which age and stress had conspired to turn ghostly white. From the slight angle he sat at the Doctor could see a police badge attached to his chest- the abducted police commissioner.

It was the third figure in the room that drew the Doctor's attention. She was lying prone on an examination bed designed to hold down those who were too wild and uncontrollable to be trusted to stay put. The irony was not lost on the Doctor.

Physically there was nothing too remarkable about her. She was neither too fat nor thin; neither too tall nor short. Her body was fairly curvaceous but not particularly exceptional. Her silky ginger was a little striking at first glance but was still just a mop of hair, pulled back into an unflattering ponytail. Her face was a little more difficult to describe- it was appealing enough that it was more than just pretty, but not quite enough to be called beautiful. Unique was probably the most apt way to describe it. Her bright eyes, apart from blazing with anger at the present, were again nothing to scream about.

Maybe it was because of the Time Lord's perceptive ability, but the Doctor found that the most amazing thing about the woman before was the way she seemed to project her feelings so openly into the environment. Even through the glass, the Doctor could feel the girl's anger and humiliation, as well as her determination not to give up and find a way to fight back. It were as though an aura emanated from her body, like an extension of herself, reaching into the world and proclaiming her existence proudly. Having been without that overwhelming personality for so long, the Doctor found himself positively captivated by the sight of Danielle Noble.

"**Harley's under strict instructions to kill the old man if any of my guys even think you've in the room. They're patrolling down there; I've told them all you're on the way. So here's the deal- if you can find a way to get to Harley without anyone realising, I'll give you your next present. Fail, and the old codger dies. Hell, I may even give you Harley! It looks like you could use a sidekick."**

The Doctor was jolted from his thoughts by the talk of him having a sidekick. He almost blurted out "Never again," in reply, but caught himself in time. He wasn't going to let the Joker have anything.

The Doctor dragged his eyes away from the person who he'd gone to such lengths to try and find so he could look about the darkened room. There was no way into the other room, except for an air vent which was suitable for the Batman to crawl through but no good for the Time Lord. The storage space had been neglected for so long that no one had bothered to make an efficient passage between there and the office. The place was perfect for the Joker's game with Batman. The Doctor thought back to the blocked door that must be the entrance to the chamber. Getting in was going to be a difficult and delicate matter.

The Doctor looked back to the wide glass pane, and when he did his eyes met those of Danielle's.

The urgency of the situation stepped up to a frantic pace. Already the Doctor could see an exclamation playing around the redhead's mouth before her brain had even begun to think about what she was doing. With only seconds to go before his cover was blown, the Doctor grabbed the old umbrella and fired his sonic screwdriver at the window.

While the rest of the window shattered to pieces around it, a person sized length of the glass burst from the pane in one large piece, following the guidance of the Doctor's alien tool as he tried to smash it into Harley and knock her senseless. The effort was in vain as the female villain cartwheeled away to the right just as the glass came near her. It hit the wall and scattered into a momentary wash of twinkling stars before gravity brought the little slivers raining down onto the floor. Undeterred by failure, the Doctor entered the room and moved away from Harley and towards the door, aware that Quinn's minions were racing to investigate the commotion. It turned out that there was no door, but instead an electric barrier buzzed with a blue glow over the entrance. That would do for now. The Doctor confronted the next threat; Harley raising an automatic rifle to her hip for an indiscriminate burst of fire. With a flick of the sonic screwdriver as though it were a magic wand, the Doctor smirked as the magazine dropped out the weapon and the mechanism jammed.

"Hey! What's the big idea!" Harley slammed the gun down in fury. She glared at the intruder before her, the black burglars mask around her eyes adding to the darkness of the expression. "Who do you think you are!"

"**He's a spoilsport Harley,"** the Joker's face appeared on a TV screen mounted on the frame of the window that looked down over the chamber below. **"Fancy coming through the window like that. But what d'you expect when a gatecrasher comes to the party; chaos and disappointment. Why that man could be my new partner in crime."**

Both the Doctor and Harley Quinn glared at the Joker's image with equal measures of shock and affront.

"**Harley, this is John Smith, the Doctor, and the fellow is making you look bad. Do something about him before I offer him your job."**

Harley spluttered at the Joker's visage, clearly at a loss for words. Then she turned on the Doctor again.

"You big ugly jerk! You've screwed up things real bad for me and puddin'! I'm gonna rip your head off for this!"

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak. In a flash of red and white, Harley was in front of him. Two fists winded the Doctor and he doubled up. A knee skyrocketed into his face making him stand up straight again. He gasped as shock cancelled out the pain with unnerving numbness.

"Hiya!" Harley leapt up and delivered a powerful kick into the Doctor's mouth. The man crashed into the wall and slid to the floor.

The Doctor felt cold blood fill his mouth. Human blood had tiny quantities of iron in it, giving it a metallic taste. Gallifreyan had traces of orichalcum, making it taste bland and harsh to the tongue. He spat out the crimson fluid and climbed back up. He was glad he was now behind the stretcher; the Doctor was not in the mood to see Danielle Noble's scathing look of disappointment after being trounced so easily.

Harley came flying at the Time Lord with her useless rifle raised like a club. The Doctor slipped aside as the butt of the weapon clanged against the metal window frame. The Doctor rushed back to the centre of the room, retrieving his dropped umbrella and sonic screwdriver. He turned around and scanned the end of the room where the super villainess was bracing herself for another attack. Next to her, the brutish guards were trying to find a way to bust open the electrical gate and join in. The Doctor turned the situation to his advantage and used the sonic screwdriver again. The energy barrier overloaded, sending arcs of crackling lightening over the gang wedged on the stairwell leading up to the office. The thugs yelled and gasped in shock until the barrier projectors shorted out, letting the stunned posse tumble back down the steps in an unconscious heap.

Harley had been partially caught in the blast but had stumbled out of range quickly. Still, she'd dropped the rifle behind her and had been weakened considerably by the attack.

"We don't have to fight you know," the Doctor offered. He raised the umbrella in his hand and pointed it threateningly at the girl. "Just give up now. I'm warning you I'm a dab hand with a cutlass."

"Oh great, he's gonna duel her with an umbrella. Look out Jack Sparrow," Danielle commented from where she sat watching the Doctor wield the object like a deadly weapon. The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment in an expression of 'Give me strength'. Couldn't she just let him have his thunder for once?

"I'm not giving up to the likes of you," Harley said. "I'm trying so hard to make Mister J happy, and now you come along and make me look like an idiot. You think you're just going to get away with that?"

Harley pulled a wooden cane from her belt, gripping it by the lower portion so the weighty handle could be used to strike with.

"Die you screwball!" Harley bounced forward and swung the walking stick into the Doctor's umbrella. She knocked it aside and tried to follow up by braining the Doctor, but he pulled his own weapon back in front of him and deflected the impact away from him. Harley snorted like a bull presented with a red cloth. She stepped forward and threw a powerful overhead swing that missed and hit the floor, allowing the time Lord to jab the tip of his umbrella hard into her exposed foot. Harley screamed in anger, not pain. She swept the cane into the Doctor's leg. The Doctor howled as something cracked audibly.

"Ha!" Quinn moved back with a triumphant smirk while the Doctor hopped on the spot. As she stepped forward she twirled the varnished stick in her hands like a baton, readying for another blow. In response the Doctor aimed the umbrella at Harley's stomach as though he might try to charge forward and run her through. She lashed out to counter his stance, when suddenly the umbrella opened wide, throwing her off guard. In a quick move, the Doctor forced the umbrella towards Harley, who instinctively grabbed it, and whipped the cane out of her hand. Before she could react, the Doctor used the sonic screwdriver again, and the light metal frame of the umbrella magnified in magnetic polarity. The umbrella snapped shut on Harley Quinn's head, trapping her in the fabric.

While she fought to free herself, cursing the whole time, the Doctor released Commissioner Gordon from his binds.

"You okay officer?" he asked calmly.

"Is this supposed to be a rescue?" Gordon spoke gruffly as he rubbed his worn wrists "You don't seem to have any idea what you're doing. At this rate you're going to get us all killed."

"Don't worry Jimmy; I've got it _allll_ under control," the Doctor assured him. This was followed by a ripping sound as Harley escaped the confines of the umbrella.

"That does it, slime ball!" shrilled Harley. Gordon actually grit his teeth as the high pitched whine dug into his skull. "I'm gonna kill you, like, now!"

The woman lunged at the Doctor, battering him with the remains of the umbrella which, to be honest, didn't particularly hurt at all. Harley went on, shoving the Doctor back against the glass windowed wall, hammering away with her pearly white teeth revealed in a snarl. That changed when the Commissioner tackled her from behind, pinning her arms against her body with his own.

"Doctor! Hit her!" said Gordon as he struggled to keep Harley enveloped in his encircling limbs. The Time Lord simply looked on in surprise while the couple tottered back like badly paired dance partners.

"Hit her, while unarmed and restrained? You can't be serious?"

Harley yanked her arms back, flexing them further than the average human would be capable of. Her hardened elbows slapped into the tender flesh on Gordon's sides just above the waist. Gordon folded in on himself and the deranged woman broke away. She seized the elderly police officer by the shirt, and then tossed him as though casting aside a sack of rubbish. He hit the window and fell again, where he lay smeared on the floor, barley conscious.

"Maybe I should have made an exception," lamented the Doctor.

Harley turned on the false private eye. She huffed and she puffed, and while she didn't blow the house down, she did rush headlong at the Doctor, who artfully skipped aside. She slammed into the wall.

Harley Quinn faced the Doctor again, the feral growls spilling from her mouth saying far more than words could. Now there was a taser in her hand, spitting strings of blue just as Harley spat furious obscenities. A taser wasn't something the Doctor had much reason to be afraid of, but he was clearly outmatch by the woman's martial prowess. Again, the situation called for the use of brains and a minimal show of violence from the Doctor, although once again, 'minimal' would have to be used in a fairly flexible fashion.

The Doctor swung the cane he was holding, purposely just out of reach of actually hitting the Joker's partner. The super criminal grabbed the object with both hands and tried to pull it from the man's grasp. The Doctor withstood the attempted theft, before pulling the walking stick sharply upwards.

The motion brought Sharpe's walking stick into harsh contact with the TV the Joker had used to make his appearance. Naturally the minor electric charge from the shattering screen was unable to snake its way down the wood of the cane into the Doctor, but for Harley who was still holding the taser while her hands were clamped either side of the stick, things were a bit more complicated.

The moment the head of the cane, along with Harley's hand, made contact with the interior of the TV, a shocking white flare blinded the occupants of the room, and Harley Quinn zoomed away from the screen like a human cannon ball. She crashed into the frame of the window the Doctor had smashed to get into the room. There was a sort of muted gulp from crumpled heap of Harley's prone form, then the former psychologist slipped from the waking world.

The Doctor couldn't help but grin at his own ingenuity. This ended when he noticed the three long shadows that fell over the beaten Harley Quinn's body.

Lockjaw, with a face scrunched up by anger as well as from when the Doctor kicked the door into him, led 'Big And Stupid' and the red uniformed knife man from the hallway where the Doctor bested them and towards the room he now resided in.

And they didn't look very happy.

"What are you waiting for; untie me!" Danielle piped up, blissfully ignorant to the impending danger with her eyes fixed on the Doctor. He didn't bother to respond as the trio approached.

"So, the fighting queen decided to take on Harley," Lockjaw spat "The big boss ain't going to like that. I'm thinking that if we kill you it'd be doing the Joker a favour," he gave his wrist a few warm up flexes, the iridescent shell of the knuckle duster catching the light from where it was clamped to his hand. 'Big And Stupid' hadn't bought anything to the fight, but his meaty fists would more than make up for that. The knife man lived up to his name with twin stainless steel claws reaching out for flesh to dig into.

The Doctor blanched at the sight. He couldn't risk running to the door in case the gang turned their anger on Danielle and Gordon. He'd used up all the electrical appliances in the room, and while the Commissioner's handcuffs were just a step away he doubted they could be used to overpower three full grown brawny prison convicts. Things looked bad.

"Now just wait a moment," the Doctor pointed scathingly at the team of thugs "just who do you think you are, barging in and causing havoc like this? Aren't you ashamed? Wouldn't you like to reform and make something worthwhile of your life rather than be the bootlicks of a loony dressed like a clown?"

No one looked very inspired, not even the Doctor himself. That had been a desperate ploy even by his standards. Even the loud mouth Lockjaw didn't bother to reply.

The gang reached the frame of the window into the office and moved to walk around the sack of bones Harley had become. As they parted, the Doctor noticed that a fourth figure had come to take part in the scene.

Batman.

Before the Doctor could even say "Phew! That was close," the Dark Knight pounced. There was some thrashing around, a few flying fists and some squeals of horror and pain.

In a matter of moments the three punks were rendered unconscious and left lying on the floor next to Harley.

The Batman stepped into the room and surveyed everything, his mind a logistical engine as it noted the broken window, the freed Commissioner, the blasted open doorway and the stunned Harley Quinn. Eventually he turned to the Doctor.

"Nice one, Doc," he rumbled like a small storm.

"You're not so bad yourself." the Doctor replied with a shrug, though he got the feeling that Batman's praise wasn't wholly sincere. Perhaps the man had indeed realised that the Doctor knew his identity, but Batman wasn't giving anything away with his award winning poker face.

"By the way, don't call me Doc," Batman didn't respond to the Doctor's instruction, just went to help Gordon to his feet.

"Look, it's great that you blokes are doing all the BFFLing thing, but could you cancel your little meeting and, oh I don't know," Danielle Noble pretended to think, before shouting "GET ME OUT OF THIS BLOODY CHAIR!"

"Ah, sorry. Knew I forgot something," laughed the Doctor nervously as he rushed to obey.

He fumbled with the locking mechanism for a moment. He managed to loosen the restraints but couldn't help but feel distracted from the task by the very woman he was trying to release.

Danielle Noble, Donna Noble's alter-ego, was sitting right in front of him. Was she the same as the person he knew? Was she pessimistic and self-doubting underneath just as she was brash and loutish on the surface? Did her vocal objections and stubborn nature betray a strong sense of justice and the courage to speak out just like Donna, or was she just a girl who was too mouthy and full of herself like everyone assumed her to be? Was she the Donna before he'd met her on her wedding day, who was obsessed with herself, or was she the Donna after her first adventure with the adipose, where she'd begun her transformation into the confident and quick witted friend he grown used to?

"What's taking you so long? Get me out of this," Danielle complained as she wriggled a hand free of the loosened clamp over her wrist. The Doctor looked her in the eyes with an air of annoyance.

Then he froze.

The eyes of the woman before him blazed just like he remembered them to, displaying a fierce quality while clearly hiding greater depth to her character beneath. Despite the similarities, the Doctor had been doing his upmost to remind himself that it was just coincidence; that Danielle was not the same person he knew. So why was it that the alter ego of Donna Noble, a woman who'd become two people when she'd taken the Doctor's mind into her head, just happened to have complete heterochromia- one eye was coloured the same stormy grey that he remembered, but the other was a perfect chocolate brown.

The Doctor found himself transfixed by the irony. They say eyes are the window to the soul. Donna Noble had become part Time Lord, taking on half of the Doctor's psyche, effectively becoming two people in one body. Now here was Danielle Noble lying before him with her miss-matched eyes, the question in his mind taunting him _'Could this just be coincidence?'_

For a moment of irrational excitement the Doctor convinced himself it had to mean something more. Donna herself said that combining a Time Lord and human mind resulted in something far more complex and unique than either one or the other. This casual discrepancy had to mean something; the DoctorDonna could still be alive, having fed back through reality into an alternate body, waiting for the Doctor to come and take her back to the TARDIS to resume their adventures.

It was a good dream for a few seconds, but like a punch in the head, reason hit the Time Lord hard. The DoctorDonna couldn't survive no matter where it resided- a Time Lord psyche couldn't be maintained in a human brain, and the human conscious was incapable of coping with Time Lord thought processes. Danielle Noble was Danielle Noble, no more or less.

And another thing occurred to the Doctor- he really had been punched in the head, and he was now lying on the floor with a dangerous looking form standing over him.

Breaking away from his daydream, the Doctor looked up to see a fearsome brute leering over him, fisting a pair of dark pistols. One was pointed down at the Doctor, the other at Batman.

"Okay, nobody move an' nothin' will happen," he said. Batman had now risen to his full height and faced the criminal, but didn't attack. The Doctor knew he could easily pummel the thug senseless if he wanted, but wasn't prepared to risk the Doctor's life with a hasty attack.

The Doctor twitched his eyes to the side. His sonic screwdriver had fallen from his hand and rolled over to the window frame. He ran a checklist of what was in his pockets in case anything therein held the solution. Sadly the only thing he could possibly use to defend himself was a can of deodorant, and he doubted the Lynx effect would be of any help to him this time.

"Now, we're gonna jus' sit here and wait for the boss to send some guys to deal with ya. Anyone try anything, I shoot."

"You know my reputation. If you try to fight, I'll stop you," said Batman, voice dead and devoid of emotion. The thug didn't react physically, though the Doctor, with his near limitless perception, detected the intense unease seeping from every pore of the muscle bound retch. The brute was clearly outclassed by the superhero. Batman was more than likely simply stalling for time in case a good chance to end the crisis without incident came up. He could take the brute at any time, and the Doctor knew that the delay would only hasten the rising panic in the criminal's heart till he did something stupid.

Even with the ability to see time, the Time Lord was not all knowing. He saw the possibilities of time, and sensed when the fabric of reality was fixed or fluctuating. Despite the many close calls he'd had over the years, he didn't have any knowledge of how or when he would die. Knowing would be a curse, but not knowing was just as bad. Most creatures didn't think in such a way, deciding that death could come at any time so there was no point thinking about it. Time Lords were thinkers by nature, and back when their species had been widespread, the question of death was as rampant as a plague. Regeneration was a conscious reaction for Time Lords, and if death came far too quickly for the Doctor, he would not be able to recover from it. The Doctor waited with an alien emotion that mirrored human fear as he watched the situation slowly make its way to the logical conclusion. Nervous perspiration glistened from where it drenched the thug's beard. His hands trembled slightly, itching to take some course of action. The Batman gave no sign of what his next move might be. The Doctor breathed deeply, wondering if it would be the last breath he ever took.

Then all of a sudden, the tension broke. There was a wallop, coinciding with a jerk of movement from the inmate, before he keeled over and landed on his face next to the Doctor.

The Doctor looked first at the lump that was already starting to grow on the back of the thug's head, and then to where he'd been standing just a moment ago.

Danielle Noble dropped Harley Quinn's disabled machine gun and strode over to the Time Lord, halting in front of him and planting her hands on her hips.

"Doctor John Smith is it?" she asked, but didn't wait for an answer "Well, congratulations I think. Worst-rescue-EVER!"

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_**Sorry for the delay- massive dose of writers block. You'll never know how long I took trying to find out what colour Catherine Tate's eyes are. Anyway, please RnR.**_


	7. Chapter 7

If just a few hours ago, Danielle Noble had been told she'd have two men lying at her feet before the night was through, she would have exchanged her pale green nurses clothes and black trainers for her best dress and high heels with her alluringly cocksure smile to go with it. If, however, she'd known that those two men would the villain known as Slider who'd she'd just knocked out and the ridiculous Doctor John Smith, she'd have quit her job and got aboard the first the plane back to England that she could find.

But she hadn't known before hand, and now she was trapped in Arkham Asylum with a loony Doctor, a police man who looked like he should've retired at the beginning of the new millennium, and the infamous Batman.

Yeah, this was a really bad night for overtime.

"Not bad, lady," the police commissioner praised her as he came over to retrieve the gun she'd dropped.

"Yeah thanks, but I've got a name, and it's not 'lady'." Danielle replied scornfully.

The copper (Jim Gordon wasn't it?) frowned slightly at the response, but seemed experienced in dealing with unpleasant people in his job.

"Just keep your pants on, _ma'am_. We're going to get you out of this mess as fast as possible."

"In England, we call them trousers," Danielle said scathingly, not caring that Gordon had already turned away to search Harley to relive her of any other weapons "and I didn't see anyone do anything about this guy here," she indicated the stunned man on the ground. "And you tell me to 'keep my pants on', when the whole asylum is out of control? I mean do you realise what I've been through tonight?"

"Danni, you really should calm down," John Smith said. "I know you've had a hard time; I was the one who you spoke to on the radio, and-"

"You!" Danielle jumped at the sudden recognition. She'd pretty much forgotten about that urgent conversation she'd had over the police radio, but now she thought about it, that voice was unmistakable.

She looked the Doctor up and down. Not bad looking, but totally unfamiliar. He was the first person she'd met with an English accent since she'd come to America.

"You're not from Arkham, are you?" she asked. "I can recognise pretty much all of the doctors here, and I'm sure you've never been here before."

"No. Well, I'm not actually a doctor. Doctor is more of a nickname for me. Well, I say nickname- more of an alias. I'm a private investigator, and a false name like that can come in handy, but all my friends call me Doctor so it's kind of a nickname so… yeah! Nice to meet you too!"

Danielle ignored the hand he offered. There was something wrong about John Smith. For starters, he was lying about something. She'd had enough experience with men to know when one was lying to her, and John's gushing monologue hadn't distracted her from the fact that the things he said were far too clearly prepared to be the truth. The second thing was the way he was looking at her. His facial expressions were excessively jolly considering the current circumstances, but his milk chocolate coloured eyes held a powerful intensity every time they looked at her. The feeling it gave her made her a little uncomfortable, but more than that made her wonder what he was staring at. The chance to possibly ask was taken away as Batman approached them, having spent the last minute or so applying disposable plastic riot cuffs to the wrists of the unconscious criminals.

"So Bats. What now?" John Smith or 'The Doctor' asked. The vigilante looked at them with achingly dark eyes that made Danielle shudder. But before he could answer, Jim Gordon said "There's something we need to check out," he pointed out the window into the chamber below, where the odd greenhouse was situated. "They've got something down there; I heard them talking about it but I don't know what it is," Danielle decided not to mention that she must have still been unconscious when that happened, remembering back to when Harley had first taken her hostage.

"**What a blabbermouth!"** the Joker's ghastly voice whined from the speaker next to the broken TV. **"Spoiling the surprise!"**

"Be quite," Batman replied blandly. Danielle felt a chill go through her at the sound of the crime fighter's cold voice. She couldn't tell who scared her more- Joker or Batman.

"**Oh, am I getting to you? Good! Heh heh heh- you're gonna love this next bit."**

This time the Bat didn't answer at all; just led the way to the ruined electrical gate where the stairwell was. Jim Gordon followed after him.

"So, coming Danni?" asked John Smith. Danielle frowned at him, then crouched down next to the brute she'd knocked out. Quickly, she striped off the leather jacket he'd stolen from one of her friends and pulled it onto her own arms. Better worn by her that a wretched thief.

"So long, _Slider_," she snarled at the unconscious body, before sweeping past 'The Doctor' and heading down the stairs.

After picking their way over Harley's electrocuted cohorts, the four arrived in front of the glass building. Smoke or mist filled the room, making it impossible to see what was inside, but Batman forced the lock and kicked the doors open, allowing the vapour to start dispersing. A work bench and a computer where slowly revealed, along with screens for displaying x-rays.

"Interesting," the Doctor smacked his lips thoughtfully. "That mist tastes like some sort of local environmental adaption catalyst, like some sort of habitat changer. Very expensive, and only used in the most delicate biological or terraforming experiments. Something big was going on here."

Danielle raised an eyebrow at Smith, not feeling the need to vocalise her thoughts. Batman ignored it as he moved further in the misty building, while Commissioner Gordon went to investigate the computer.

"It wants Doctor Young's login," the police officer announced.

"Yeah, this is Doctor Young's area," Danielle confirmed. "This room is spare. Doctor's can book them for complicated experiments for curing the super criminals, but Young's had it for ages."

"Never mind that; get behind me, _now_!"

Everyone looked towards the Batman at the sound of his exclamation. Naturally, none of them thought to do as they were told, instead looking to see what had provoked such a reaction. The answer soon became apparent.

The last of the mist cleared, and a horrible sight assailed Danielle's eyes.

A limp figure was suspended at the back of the small building, hanging face down from the roof by chunky cables, tinted red and only partially see-through. The man's lightly tanned body was skeletal, looking like the patients who had severe eating disorders, with ribs poking out of his thorax and joints clearly defined with skin stretched tightly over them. The only clothing he had was black cargo pants and boots which were far too big for him. Heavy straps coiled over his chest and held some sort of tank on his back that must have caused immense pain as it pressed down on him against the pipes that were plugged into his body and holding him up. More pipes came from the tank itself, connecting to the man's arms and the back of his head. Things that looked like manacles were clamped around the prisoner's forearms, adding to the weight he endured. There was some sort of hood over his head. It was black except for white segment over the face, which was shaped a little like a snow angel with its head removed, as though it was making fun of Batman's equally obscure bat emblem. Wide holes gaped open to give the man's eyes and mouth access to the air.

"Bane," Batman named the entity strung up before them.

"I thought he broke out of Blackgate," Gordon sounded puzzled more than anything. Danielle and the Doctor were speechless.

Then the body moved and raised its head to look at the intruders. Danielle recoiled.

'_He's alive!'_ she thought.

"Cut...me...down," the restrained super criminal murmured in gasps laced with a Spanish accent. No one move to help, unsure how exactly to free him, but Batman asked "Who did this to you?"

"Doctor Young, the _Bruja_. She drained the venom from my blood. Must _stop_ her."

Even having been raised in England away from the American culture that had grown to cope and live with the chaos of super criminals and the vigilante's who challenged them, Danielle had read enough in the Daily Mirror back home to understand that the venom Bane referred to was some sort of dangerous steroid that gave the user super strength. British media often had reports on the 'terrorists' who threatened the world, and Bane was among the most prominent, making Danielle feel a little queasy despite how powerless he looked now.

"**Sorry has-Bane,"** the computer on the desk flickered and the Joker's face appeared. **"The good doctor won't be a problem much longer," **he them moved closer to the screen and seemed to direct his eyes at the group standing in the small building. **"How do you like my puppet? What's say we cut him down?"**

The Joker's image then lifted some sort of remote into view, and pressed the only button on it.

The effect was instantaneous. The moment the trigger was clicked, crimson lights lit up the greenhouse, and the red tubes holding Bane changed colour as a gruesomely green liquid rushed through them and into Bane's body. The man convulsed and groaned in agony and his fleshed bubbled audibly. The pipes in the tank on his back turned vivid green as well, pulsating as the fluid spread infectiously. Bane growled and roared and began thrashing about as his withered body started to inflate, bulging and growing stronger, while his eyes widen and turned emerald too.

"Everyone run!" Batman shouted as he began to back away. Gordon swiftly retreated, trying to bring up the machine gun he took from Harley. Danielle would have just stood there in shock had John Smith not grabbed her waist and dragged her round the side of the door. Any complaint the nurse might have made was covered up by the noise of Bane finely becoming too heavy and ripping the pipes out of the walls as he dropped to the ground. Smoke and fumes billowed out of the small room, and Batman was forced to back away in order to have some clear air to see through.

Then, growling like a bear, with footsteps like war drums, Bane thundered out of the room, barrelling straight towards the Bat.

This was no longer the weak creature that had been held captive in the glass building the other three now sheltered next to- half man, half tank, with bundles of gleaming muscles and physique of insane size and stature, this was the Bane that was both glorified and feared for the same reasons throughout the world; a member of Batman's rogue gallery, surpassed only by the likes of the Joker himself.

Bane threw a massive blow at the Bat's head. The monster was so tall that Batman got underneath his attack with only the slightest crouch. Bane struck again, this time with his left fist, sticking it into the floor where Batman would have been standing had he not stepped aside in time. The crime fighter delivered one ineffectual punch to the hooded face, achieving nothing except perhaps making Bane a little more furious. With a grip like hydraulic mechanics, the criminal seized Batman and lifted him without difficulty, all the while snarling like a beast.

"Wait!" someone screamed. Danielle looked all around in confusion, before doing a double take as she spotted John Smith skidding to a halt in front of Bane. What the hell was he doing!

"Bane, stop! If you just wait a moment I can help you!"

Bane ignored him completely, and flung Batman into a brick wall. The rock blasted away with the force of the vigilante hitting it. Bricks went bouncing from the site of the impact, and Batman vanished through the hole in the wall.

Bane was then faced with the Doctor.

"I'm a smart person, Bane. I can take care of whatever they've pumped into you. You jus-"

The monster roared again and slapped the smaller man aside. He went flying, right into the hole created by Batman, catching the side of the opening slightly and spinning away into the darkness. Bane immediately followed after him, his shoulders shunting his way through the hole, making in three times wider.

Danielle left her hiding place, staring at hole in the wall with disbelief written all over her face. Just now, right in front of her, a super hero battle had taken place, and she of all people had been there to witness it.

Nurse Noble felt a rush of panic go through her. From what she could hear, Batman and Bane were making quite a fight of it, and John Smith was in there as well. What if one of them got killed? She'd had only a minimal experience with death, and on the few occasions she encountered she'd completely gone to pieces. How would she cope if someone was murdered right in front of her, when keeping her head was paramount to her survival in the overrun asylum?

Then there was a small rumble from somewhere above. Danni looked up instinctively.

"The hallway!" Jim Gordon appeared at her shoulder, making her jump. "Joker's goons must have blown open the doors they were barricading to get down here. They're gonna be here any second."

Fear chilled Danielle's veins as she asked "What are we going to do?"

"I can't fight them all off with just this," he indicated the machine gun, before looping the strap over his shoulder. "Are only chance is to stick with Batman; through the hole."

Danielle boggled at the suggestion. True, she could hear the angry voices of approaching thugs, both from the hallway door at the back of the chamber and the office above her. But to go to where that monster was?

"No-way!" she emphasised both words. The commissioner quickly grabbed her upper arm.

"Way," he said dully, before dragging Danielle towards and literally throwing her through the wall. All the while Danni screamed protests.

The nurse fell into some kind of boiler room. The entire floor was made of metal grates. Steam hung everywhere, making it difficult to see.

Danielle looked back at the police officer, intending to let rip with one of her best tirades. The words died in her throat as Gordon entered the room with something he'd taken from the knocked out Harley Quinn.

A bomb- a fist sized black ball with a piece of wick in the top, like the ones in cartoons, with face composed of crimson snake eyes and a pearl white grin stencilled on the side. The commissioner had already used the attached lighter flint to start the fuse. As he rushed through the hole in the wall, Gordon tossed the fizzing explosive behind him and dived to the floor.

Danielle had never heard an explosion up close before. It wasn't really how loud it was that mattered, but how sharp it was. It reached its full volume so quickly and suddenly that it left her head spinning, and she only just had the presence of mind to crawl forward as the brick wall collapsed.

When she was finally sure that the destruction had ceased, Danielle raised her head and looked back. The rust coloured stones had completely barricaded the way in, preventing anyone from coming after them. But of course, that also meant that no one could get out, and they were stuck in the boiler room with Bane. Speaking of which, Danni could make out the undeniable sound of a pitched battle over the ringing in her ears. She quickly forced herself up, swaying a little and waving her hands to clear away the sheet of brick dust that stung her nose.

As soon as she saw the fight itself, all thought of the uncomfortable conditions were forgotten.

Batman and Bane were in the middle of the walled room, fighting savagely. Danielle was simply awestruck by the shear brutality of the match. Bane's strength and weight was unmatched and he was clearly faster than he looked, but Batman was faster still, and more importantly, cunning. It was truly titanic.

At that point the super criminal raised both arms over his head, gripped both fists together, and brought them down like a sledgehammer. Batman rolled aside as the fists smashed a hole in the floor. Bane grabbed the loosened metal grille and ripped it up. He swung in through the air in arcs that would slice a man in two. Batman ducked one, jumped out the way of another, then circled round till he was near a wall. Bane cut the air with the segment of grating, only to have it hit the wall and jam between two pipes. The Bat used the short pause in the fighting to jump onto the panel as though it were a step and deliver a pair of punches to Bane's face. He leapt away as Bane pulled the grille free and swung again, this time using the flat surface to try and swat the vigilante like an insect.

The metal pounded against the floor, narrowly missing its target. Batman immediately stepped forward. He seized part of the metal grate with his left hand and a bolt of electricity was channelled through it and into Bane. The brute staggered back and dropped the grille, but otherwise appeared unharmed. Batman followed up the attack by flinging a handful of pellets at Bane, each of which burst into patches of smoke. A second object that looked like a bolas went spinning towards the monster. Bane quickly lumbered out of the smoke screen, but the bolas had tangled around his legs and he fell.

Batman lunged through the air as soon as Bane's knees hit the floor. He scrambled over the super villain's back, perched himself on the hunched shoulders, and yanked a pipe out of the tank on the criminal's back. The tube pulled away with a slurp, and Bane roared, driven wild with pain and anger. He groped blinded above himself, but Batman had already vaulted off the man and positioned himself a few feet away.

Bane eventually spotted Batman. He got back to his feet and snatched at a piece of the wall, easily tearing a tablet of bricks away from a jagged corner. With a laugh, Bane hurled the brickwork at the Dark Knight, who was taken by surprise at the speed of the projectile and knocked flat as the object merely brushed past him. Bane snarled victoriously, then charged.

Swiftly recovering from his injury, Batman shot his grapple gun into the roof, and the cable dragged him sharply into the air. As he left the floor, he shot out a heavy boot and kicked Bane in the face as he soared past. The super strong monster went blundering onwards, holding his face in pain.

It was only when it was far too late that Danielle realised the thing was coming straight at her.

Bane pounded by the nurse, coming within hairsbreadth of her. He crashed into the wall and moaned in pain. Danni stood stock-still, paralysed with shock. The monster was so close she could smell the tang of his sweat and sting of spilt venom from the pipe that was hanging loosely from him. She could feel the very air shifting in response to the mad man's every movement. Her mind screamed to run, but her body refused to respond. Or was it the other way round- her body desperate to run, but her mind unable to process the demand. Her brain was still trying to cope with how close she'd come to being run over. The only experience she could relate to such a thing resurfaced unbidden from her memory- a stupid dare when she was about ten, having wandered near a railway track without realising a train was about to pass by. The force of the passing locomotive had left her breathless and trembling. Bane's presence had the exact same effect on her.

Feeling herself begin to shake, Danielle forced her head to turn to face the super criminal.

Bane took one look at her, roared terrifically, and swung his right arm back.

Danielle screamed at the top of her lungs, seeing her death approach. Then something slammed into her from behind and knocked her to the ground. Bane's fist breezed over her head like a cyclone. Danni felt arms wrap around her as somebody pulled her into a tight embrace. When the arms had a firm hold of her, the person rolled them both away from Bane's descending foot. The floor crumpled, and Danielle felt the grating change into a slope as it did. She looked up to see Bane stomping after his escaping prey, but he hadn't gone two steps before a metal claw bit over his head.

Batman took a firm hold of the batclaws cable and pulled, unbalancing the hulking beast. Bane followed the pull of the claw, howling again. The vigilante made his move and started wrapping Bane up in the cable, dodging wild swings with ease as he circled his old enemy.

Danielle felt the arms holding her let go. She untangled herself from the grip and looked behind.

It was John Smith, a.k.a 'The Doctor' as he preferred. Danni found it quite puzzling that it would be the skinny man who would pull off a daring rescue like that, his fight with Harley demonstrating his competence in tasks of physical strength.

With a start, she realised the Doctor had just saved her life!

"Are you all right?" the Doctor asked with panicked concern. For once, a sarcastic answer failed to come to Danielle's mind. She was imagining what would have happened had the Doctor not been there.

"I'm fine…" she managed eventually.

Another loud yell drew their attention back to the Bane-fight.

Bane had somehow managed to snap the batclaw cable, but Batman had produced another one from somewhere. Blinding the Spaniard with a flash from a light emitting gadget, Batman shot the cord through one of the looping pipes in Bane's venom tank. He deployed the grapple again and lurched upwards. The cable of the batclaw was dragged along with him and tore the pipe out of Bane's head. Bane screamed in pain, trying madly to stick the tube back in, to no avail. Batman casually dropped back to the floor.

The super criminal huffed in rage. Before it could recoil out of reach, he snatched up the batclaw wire and held it tight; Batman was forced to let go before Bane tried to reel the cable towards himself. Instead of that, however, Bane charged the Dark Knight, who dived out the way again, but was forced to duck low as the metallic cord trailed behind the monster. Bane turned to face the Dark Knight and lashed the batclaw like a whip, catching him in the face. The distraction gave Bane enough time to close the gap between them and he grabbed the crime fighter between his massive palms.

Batman grunted in pain and tried to worm free, but he was trapped in the criminal's grasp. The briefcase sized fingers covering the Bat's equipment belt stopped him from getting anything from there, and Danni and the Doctor didn't have a hope of trying to overpower the super villain. Things looked bleak for the Bat.

Then gunfire rang out; Gordon appeared as if from nowhere, firing his gun into the huge monsters back. Slugs punched holes into Bane's exposed flesh and ricocheted off the tank of venom. None seem to help at all; Bane's impressive network of enhanced muscles held against the lead onslaught, and Bane merely grumbled in response.

"Gordon," Batman continued to fight Bane's clutches "shoot the pipes."

Gordon reacted instantly, turning his attack upon the pipes in the roof nearest Bane. Some had already been damaged during the fight, but a few were still intact, and jets of steam blossomed out from where the bullets struck them.

Bane moaned and growled as hot water scalded his head and shoulders. While he was distracted, Batman punched at different pressure points in the monster's wrists until his hold weakened. The Bat then kicked himself away from Bane and broke free, landing on the floor a few feet away.

Deprived of his catch, the super criminal turned his fury on Gordon. The commissioner emptied the rest of the assault rifle into Bane as he approached. Again, the rounds caused the man no harm. Bane grabbed hold of the gun and crushed it in one hand. He tossed his other hand in a punch that would have cleaved Commissioner Gordon's head from his shoulders had a batarang not knocked him down in time.

Before the monstrous criminal could look back, Batman swung through the air on the titanium cable of his grapple, slamming both feet into the back of Bane's knee. The super strong brute keeled over backwards as his leg collapsed. The Dark Knight rolled aside as he fell. The moment Bane was down, the Bat tried to jump forward and grab the last tube coming from the venom tank into an oversized arm. Bane saw him coming and slapped Batman away. The vigilante tumbled across the floor for a few metres before coming to a halt. He seemed a little dazed, but started climbing to his feet faster than the super criminal, who struggled just to get into a crouching position.

Suddenly, Danielle became aware that John Smith had got up off the floor and was running towards Bane.

"What are you doing!" she shrieked in horror. The Doctor ignored her and ran straight up to the super villain. He then whipped out the strange remote control with a blue light and pressed against Bane's arm. An ominous growl responded to the intrusion. Bane reached out with one gigantic hand that could squeeze the life from the John Smith. The private eye didn't try to get away, and as it turned out he didn't need to.

Suddenly, the metal plug in Bane's arm burst loose with a flood of bright green fluid. Bane roared in pain and quickly tried to hold the semi connected wedge of metal in place, but the Doctor grabbed it first and tore it the rest of the way off.

The Doctor skipped away from the hands that struck out at him. The super villain climbed up and went to attack, but as he raised his arms the Batman appeared and seized one of the limbs. As he came level with Bane's head, he used a tiny black canister to spray a grimy looking vapour into the monsters face.

Bane yelled again, throwing the Dark Knight off and pawing at his eyes. The colossus staggered around, nearly trampling both John Smith and Batman in his pain induced frenzy. This time he didn't quickly recover. Instead, he fell back to his knees, shouting at his agony.

"Everyone, I've found a way out!"

All eyes turned to Commissioner Gordon who was at the back of the room. He pointed up at the roof, but Danielle couldn't see anything from where she was sat on the floor. Batman either saw what Gordon was pointing at or simply trusted the policeman because he said "Doctor, get the nurse and follow Gordon. Everyone out, _now_."

In the blink of an eye, John Smith was helping Danielle up and pulling by the hand as fast as possible to where Gordon was looking for the best way to climb the wall. Danni was still pretty shaken by her ordeal and didn't think she'd make it up the makeshift ladder of pipes running across the brickwork. She said as much to the Doctor.

"Don't worry, I know you can do this," he said encouragingly. Danni was far from convinced.

"I'm not strong enough to climb that; I'll never make it. Either that or I'll fall and break my neck."

"That won't happen. I'm going to be right behind you the whole way."

Danielle looked up at the roof. Far above she could just make out what looked like a proper ladder, leading to the metal disc of a manhole cover. The path to it went up the wall and into a sort of tunnel that led out of the room. It looked like a long way to go.

Bane's voice echoed around the chamber as he again attempted to strike Batman. Even without the constant supply of venom from his storage tank, Bane was still fighting fit, and apparently unknockoutable.

The dire circumstances were starting to eat at Danni's fortitude. Doubt and deeply embedded paranoia stole her hope, and memories of all her shortcomings and disapproving comments from her mother inexplicably filled her mind and reminded her that she was already out of her depth. She just couldn't struggle up the pipes and escape. Shock was beginning to set in with vengeance, and the others wouldn't risk their lives trying to persuade her to save her own life if she didn't snap out of it and do it herself. She was going to be left behind and would die there; she just knew it.

"Danielle, look at me," despite the current emergency, the Doctor's voice was calm and gentle. She felt his hands on her shoulders, distracting her from the loud battle that was still going on. Still, she made no effort to lift her head from looking down in shame of her inability to cope with the situation.

"I know you're scared, and you're having trouble taking this all in, but you can do it if you really try hard."

"I can't do this," Danni was starting to feel tired, as though her brain just wanted to shut down and take a break from it all. "I… just can't deal with all this. This is just insane- what am I even doing here?"

"Danni, please…"

"Hurry up you two! Batman can't hold him forever!"

The two Brits looked up on impulse at the commissioner as he continued to forge ahead to get the manhole open. For an old man he was pretty agile, creeping up the pipe inlayed wall slowly but surely. Danielle thought bitterly of how the aged police officer could manage to escape but she was too afraid to even try. Was she just doomed to failure or something?

"We have to go now," said John Smith. Danielle shook her head.

"Just get out of here while you can. I'm not going anyway like this."

"What do you mean 'Like this'? Like what?" the Doctor asked incredulously.

Danielle felt her temper heat up and snapped "Like some idiot who can't handle a little bit of stress even if it gets her killed and is so damn worthless that not even her mum cares if she lives or dies. Now just get out of my face."

Danielle turned away from the private eye completely, checking on how the Bane situation was going. The beast was down again, and Batman looked like he might be planning his chance to escape and leave Bane trapped in the boiler room.

'_With me,'_ she added in her head.

As though in direct response to her thought, the Doctor suddenly took a firm hold of her arms and spun her back round so that she was facing him. Before Danni's tongue could lash out at the treatment, the Doctor began speaking.

"Danielle Noble, I've heard you say some rash things in the time I've known you but that is the most _absurd_ thing so far! When I spoke to you over the radio, I heard you outwit and attack Harley Quinn in order to protect the children's ward, nearly getting yourself killed in the process. You didn't beg or bargain or cry or do anything that a sensible person would do, and that stroke of initiative prevented a disaster so awful it doesn't bare thinking about what might have happened if it hadn't been for you. Then I came all this way through Arkham to rescue you, and what happened? I get jumped by a bloke called Slider and you have to rescue me! He could have shot me or Gordon or even the Batman, and again you risked your own life to end the crisis before anyone got hurt. All three of us here are indebted to you, and I know for a fact that just because your mum may be impatient with you, that will never change the fact that she truly loves you. I've known you for less than an hour and you are without a doubt the most stupidly brave, inspiring and resourceful person I've met in this asylum, and that includes Batman! You're no ordinary woman Danielle Noble; I knew that the moment I met you. _You_, are quite simply, brilliant! And I'm not going anywhere without you."

Danielle was struck dumb.

It took her a few seconds to register all of the rapidly spoken words, and a further eight point five seconds to check the words to see if any of them made sense at all.

Everything that had just been said was... extraordinary! But John Smith spoke with a passion of monumental volumes, sincerity vibrating with every syllable. And not in the way she'd heard mental ill patients ramble- the Doctor's words came at her like the Holy Scriptures, flawless and beyond doubt. His tone brooked no argument, and Danielle half felt that she ought to agree with him instantly, even though she knew he was talking rubbish. Now that she faced him, Danni could see again the Doctor's powerful eyes boring into hers with the same intensity. But now it was something other than that. John's eyes were no longer looking at her in that penetrating way that had made her uncomfortable. Now there was a spark in those creamy brown orbs, like bright starlight through the lens of her granddad's telescope. They sparked a flame in Danielle Noble; a flame which she couldn't explain the source or meaning of. But it didn't take long for that flame to become a wildfire of excited determination, and before she knew what she was saying, she'd already finished speaking.

"Stubborn man!" she shoved the private eye back. "Typical- never listen to reason! Fine, I'll climb. But if I fall you'd better bloody well catch me!"

The Doctor gave her a mischievous grin.

"That's more like it. Let's go!"

They began their climb.

The boiler room was ancient, and the piping was poorly maintained and fit to collapse. Aged pipes soiled the two climbers with the filth of corrosion. Some of the pipes were so badly damaged by the decay of time that festering wounds had been shattered into them. Jagged edges and loose chunks of metal pieced their flesh of Danielle's hands, but she knuckled down and fought back the tears of pain as she dragged herself up the punishing wall, one blood shedding handhold at a time. She could hear the Doctor scrambling up behind her, his mere presence after that outburst feeding her strength. Below him, the racket of the Bane-fight was still going on. It surely wouldn't be long before Batman would have to back off and Bane would have his chance to try and go after the escapees.

To take her mind of the toil she was going through, Danielle's mind turned to John Smith.

Upon her first evaluation of the man, the Doctor had put her in mind of a machine, powerful and energetic but somehow soulless, as if he gave her the feeling that his excitable bluster was an automated front he put on to get him through the crisis. Since the moment he'd tried to offer Bane help, however, his facade had disintegrated to reveal the man beneath. He seemed so full of life, and that feeling had empathically spread to Danielle. That was probably the best way she could describe it; the Doctor had made her feel alive, in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

After a short while climbing up a narrowing shaft which had stretched into a painful eternity, Danni came to the edge of the metal ladder. She turned her head and was glad to see that John had kept to his promise and was right behind her.

"We made it; we can escape!" she called down gleefully.

She could just make out the Doctor's smile from looking over her shoulder (she could hardly miss it; it was a big enough). Apparently Danielle's voice had travelled far, because Bane roared furiously in reply.

"Sorry has-Bane; should have accepted my help when I offered!" Danielle couldn't tell from Smith's tone whether he was being serious or mocking the super villain. She started climbing again. Before she moved more than a few feet there was the sound of something rushing through the air, followed by a crunch, and then a quick gasp. She looked back, and her expression turned to one of horror.

A brick fell back down the shaft from where it had been thrown from. Blood dripped with it, racing back to the monster responsible. The Doctor was currently doing a fine impression of a gawping fish, frozen in open mouthed confusion. Even unable to see his back, the drips of blood falling from the Doctor indicated to Danielle that Bane's hurled brick had caused injury. The Doctor's hold on a particularly sweaty pipe faltered. He began to topple back.

"No!" Danielle screamed for the second time that night. She braved the drop by reaching out hopelessly with one hand even though he was far out of reach.

"I will kill you all! You and the Bruja!" Bane's voice ascended from below; a death knell for John Smith.

She didn't want to lose the Doctor. It was strange, but Nurse Noble had had far stranger impulses to far more unlikely mean in the past. Her emotions mounted to levels of absolute terror at the thought of losing the private eye with the complex personality. She didn't want to see him die, but at the same time she couldn't bring herself to look away as he fell.

Then there was hope, in the form of a guardian; a knight. A Dark Knight.

Never before had the expression 'like a bat out of hell' been more relevant as the Batman materialised out of the darkness below as he literally flew up towards them. Just as the Doctor's backwards collapse reached the point of no return, Batman came level with him and shoved him back against the wall.

"Gordon, give me those grenades," Batman somehow allowed his voice to carry up the shaft without seeming to raise his voice. A bandolier dropped past Danielle's face and into Batman's hand.

"Keep going," Batman said before he dropped back out of sight.

"Can you keep going, John?" Danielle called over her shoulder.

"Yeah, fine," the Doctor's voice was strained, but he spoke with confidence and reassurance. "I'll be right behind you."

Danni didn't like the idea of going on and leaving the private investigator to his own devices, but she was having a hard enough time herself and couldn't help him. Her head was drawn back upwards by the scraping sound as Gordon reached the manhole and started to push it free. She decided that the best option was to get out quickly so as to allow the Doctor to follow as fast as possible.

Explosions from below jump started Danielle's movements, and she scurried towards the dim light coming from the open manhole. The sound of falling stone and metal accompanied a roar from Bane, echoing between the cramped walls. The nurse dared not stop.

Danielle didn't realise just how fetid and noxious the air in the boiler room was until she took her first breath of cool, clean night air as she emerged from the underground, outside the medical facility. She coughed the stink of the deep chambers out of her lungs as she crawled out onto the dirt track. Gordon was standing at the lip of the hole, helping her out. As soon as she was clear he turned his attention to the second person. Danielle quickly moved to help as well.

Danielle had been expecting to have to drag John Smith out of the hole, but surprisingly he climbed out on his own, only the slightest wince with each movement of his left arm indicating that he'd been wounded. Nevertheless, she brushed off the man's protests about being fine as she dragged him to a nearby bench and forced him to sit down while she checked his injury.

"Some Doctor you are! That brick might have killed you," she said, trying to stay calm while her emotions went unexplainably haywire with the relief of finding that the crater in his back wasn't as deep as she'd believed, and the thought of what might have happened to him if Batman hadn't had caught him.

At that moment, the Batman himself vaulted out of the manhole and joined the small group.

"Bane's been buried under a pile of rubble," he announced in his heavy voice. "He won't be causing us any problems for some time."

The gathered people lapsed into a moment of silence as they allowed themselves to withdraw from the adrenaline high and catch their breath. Nearly ten seconds passed as they gathered their thoughts before anyone spoke.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" said the Doctor.


End file.
